Harry Potter and the Forty Eleventh Fifth Year Fic
by Three Sickles Short
Summary: Yes, another now-AU fifth-year fic. Just a “typical” year-in-the-life. You’ll see a good deal of what you’d expect—classes, Quidditch, run-ins with Slytherins, budding romances, OWLs, the Order of the Phoenix, danger, death. Written in Harry’s POV.
1. A Decision

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Disclaimer: Everything belongs to J. K. Rowling. I'm not making any money from this story. (Or from anything else, for that matter.)

Author's Note: Hi, folks. I'm back, after a long hiatus, with a fifth-year story. (Apologies to anyone who was holding out for more James-fic; the voices is my head this time around were Harry's generation, and I've gotta do what the voices say.) I'm trying to be as Rowling-esque as possible, which means I've included a good bit of the "previously on Harry Potter" stuff; I'm interested in feedback on how well or badly that works. Hope you all enjoy it. Updates may be a bit sporadic, as I'm supposed to be writing a dissertation, but I'll try to be reasonably conscientious. Oh, and later chapters will be longer. I don't know why the first two turned out to be so short, but they did. Many thanks to Yolanda, whose beta-reading saved this chapter from general awkwardness. Happy reading! TSS

P.S. Apologies for any machine-language glitches; my version of Microsoft Word sometimes messes up when I go from .doc form to .html form.

Chapter One—A Decision

Harry Potter reckoned that this summer just might be the worst of his life, and that, given the usual awfulness of his summers, was saying something. The external circumstances of his home life weren't so bad as usual; he and the Dursleys, the aunt, uncle, and cousin with whom he had lived since his parents' deaths, had reached a state of armed truce. After a few run-ins with some of Harry's self-appointed protectors had left him with a pig's tail (surgically removed) and a four-foot-long tongue (magically restored to its normal size), Dudley seemed cured of his desire to bully Harry and was, in fact, afraid to stay in the same room with him. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had also been quailed into a state of near-civility. They still refused to have Harry's "abnormality" mentioned in their house, and they still looked at him with a look that most people reserve for something that they've just stepped in by accident, but they had gone from treating him like an indentured servant to treating him much like a lodger with squatter's rights—they didn't like him, but they'd realised that his presence was unavoidable and that, given his powers and the powers of his "dangerous associations," they were better off to leave him alone. Life with the Dursleys wasn't what you'd call familial bliss, but it was, so far, bearable, which was better than it had ever been before.

So it wasn't family life that made him worry about this particular summer; it was the circumstances in the outside world. _His_ outside world. The wizarding world.

Harry Potter was a wizard, and now was the time for all good wizards to be very, very worried. In his infancy, Harry was thought to have defeated the worst Dark wizard in history, a wizard so bad that most did not dare to speak his name; however, that defeat had turned out to have been only temporary. Not quite a month ago, after spending thirteenyears as a formless spirit, Lord Voldemort had been reborn. Harry had witnessed the re-birth, and he had barely managed to come out of the encounter alive. One of his schoolmates, an older student named Cedric Diggory, hadn't been so lucky, and Harry couldn't help blaming himself a bit for Cedric's death. The lingering sense of guilt, in combination with the certainty that Cedric would be only the first of many to fall to Voldemort this time around, made Harry feel worried, angry, and on the verge of hopelessness—not a nice bundle of feelings with which to start the summer. 

Harry tried to keep in mind the parting words of his friend Hagrid, the groundskeeper at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Just over a week ago, Harry and his best friends Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger had visited Hagrid for a final cup of tea before they headed home. Hagrid had left them with a piece of good advice. "No good sittin' worryin' about' it," he had said, referring to Voldemort's return. "What's comin' will come, an' we'll meet it when it does." Harry had replayed these words in his head at least a dozen times a day since his return to the Dursleys; they made him feel a little braver, a little more in control. Whenever he felt himself starting to brood on things, he would repeat Hagrid's words to himself and then go and do something else. 

Of course, since he was stuck in the Muggle world for the summer with a couple of the Muggliest Muggles imaginable, the possibilities for "something else" were pretty limited. The one thing that might have been able to take his mind entirely off his problems for a bit was a good, long ride on his Firebolt, the best broomstick in the world, but he certainly couldn't do that; Muggles might see him. Even regular Muggle diversions like television and computer games weren't really options; he didn't want to risk breaking the fragile peace that he and the Dursleys had achieved by doing anything that made noise or required using anything of theirs. Mostly, he either stayed in his room and read or stayed outside in the garden. 

The room that was now his had once been Dudley's second bedroom, used to house old or broken toys and belongings that he had no use for. The main category of things that Dudley had no use for was books; the room still held several bookshelvesful of them, and most looked like they'd never been opened. Many of the books were for smaller children, and Harry skipped those, but there were plenty of grown-up books, too. Some well-meaning relative had given Dudley a large set of books called _Works of English Greats_ when he was born, saying that "every boy needs a library of his own." Dudley hadn't grown up to be someone who cared much about a library of his own, so the books languished on the shelves until Harry started rescuing them. He'd taken to reading late into the night. He found that his nightmares weren't so bad if he put off sleeping for as long as he could; if he waited, he usually only woke up once a night. Usually. He had just finished a book called _Oliver Twist_; it was about a boy who was an orphan, just like Harry, and the orphanage where he lived sounded almost awful enough to make life with the Dursleys seem like not such a bad lot. But Oliver did okay in the end; after falling in with a band of pick-pockets, he was eventually rescued by a nice old man who turned out to be his grandfather. Harry was happy for old Oliver. 

In addition to "Works of the English Greats," there were lots of 'how-to' books on the shelves. It seemed that Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had run through lots of fantasies for what their Dinky-duddy-dums would be when he grew up: a football star, a rugby star, a chess grand master, an artist, a yachtsman. All of these plans had fallen through due to a combination of laziness and feeble-mindedness in such quantities as only Dudley could achieve, and the books were relegated to the shelves in Harry's room. The chess book and the football bookwere godsends; wizard chess wasn't so different from Muggle chess (except that, in wizard chess, the pieces talked—or rather shouted—to the players and to each other), and Harry hoped that a summer of practise might help him stop losing so dramatically to Ron. The wizarding chess set that he had gotten from a wizard cracker at his first Christmas Feast at Hogwarts was set up on his desk, arranged so that he could try his hand at oneof the problems outlined in the book. Harry had threatened the pieces with a Silencing Spell if they made any noise, and, so far, they had confined themselves to occasional whispers. Harry was glad that they were co-operating. He wasn't really allowed to do magic over the summer, so even a Silencing Spell might have earned him a warning from the Ministry of Magic. Fortunately, the chess pieces didn't seem to know about the rules, or maybe they were just being nice. At any rate, Harry found that the book was helping his game immensely.

The football book gave Harry something to do when he wanted to burn off a bit of energy. Since Harry wasn't allowed to talk to the neighborhood kids, he was limited to one-person drills, but they were better than nothing, and he hoped that they would keep him in shape for Quidditch, the wizarding sport for which Harry played Seeker on his House team at Hogwarts. 

With chess, football, and reading, Harry had so far managed to keep his days full and his mind occupied, but he was getting restless, and it was getting harder for him to push his worries about Voldemort out of his mind. Random images kept popping into his head as he tried to concentrate on the chess board: the Dark Mark flying over more and more homes; a pair of, red, pitiless eyes; flashes of green light and a high, cruel laugh accompanying the "thump" of a body hitting the ground; pale, unnaturally long fingers caressing a wand; empty chairs in the Great Hall; screams of pain, or fear, or grief, or some awful combination of all three; terror that wentunallayed and pleas that went ignored; and the blank, empty grey eyes of the corpse of Cedric Diggory. Some of the images were real, some imaginary, and Harry couldn't decide which ones were worse. 

"We'll meet it," Harry said aloud. He took a deep, steadying breath and repeated**,** "We'll meet it." 

"I'm sure you will, luv," interrupted a grumpy voice from the chessboardsoftly. "But, before you do, could you be so as kind as to get me out o' check?" 

Harry's bright green eyes refocussed on the black king, who was looking up at him in exasperation. "Sorry," he muttered, moving a pawn forward to block the white rook. "I think I'd better leave it there for now, fellows. We'll pick it up later, okay?"

The chess pieces quietly assented, and Harry picked up his football (really Dudley's football, but Dudley hadn't touched it in years) and headed for the garden, hoping the exercise would clear his mind. As he passed through the kitchen, he said, in his politest tones, "I'll be outside if you need me, Aunt Petunia." His aunt pressed her lips together in the habitual disapproval that she constantly displayed toward Harry, but she managed a curt nod of acknowledgment. Harry caught the screen door behind him before it could slam, dribbled the ball to the corner of the garden farthest from Petunia's flowerbeds, and began to practice his drills. 

After thirty minutes of vigorous exercise, Harry's mind felt a little calmer, but there was still one big worry pushing itself up from all the other worries and trying to force itself to his attention: He had to tell them. No matter how tough it was to talk to them, Harry knew that he should at least attempt to warn the Dursleys about what was going on in the wizarding world. He didn't think they were in immediate danger—he reckoned that the blood magic invoked to protect him when he was in their care also protected _them_—but they still should know, if only so they'd understand why he was getting more owls this summer than any previous summer. He'd just sent off for a _Daily Prophet_ subscription; he knew that the wizarding newspaper would never be allowed to tell the full story, but they'd have to report any major catastrophes, and he could try to read the real story between the lines of what the Ministry of Magic allowed them to publish. So that meant at least one owl per day. Ron and Hermione would of course be keeping in touch, though Hermione, being Muggle-born, was almost as limited in her summer access to wizarding news as Harry was, and Sirius, Harry's godfather, had promised to write often. All in all, this meant a flurry of owls would be pelting Number Four, Privet Drive for the entire summer. Harry had already seen Uncle Vernon glaring angrily as Ron's owl, Pigwidgeon, had hooted his way through Harry's window a few times, and he could already hear Aunt Petunia's comments about "droppings" once the _Daily Prophet_ owls started flying in every morning. Perhaps the glares and comments would stop if he could get the Dursleys to understand the importance of the information that the owls were carrying. 

Harry sighed and ran a distracted hand through his jet-black hair, making it stand out at even wilder angles than usual. How much should he tell them? When should he tell them? Would they listen? Would any attempt at discussion wreck the relative calm? He didn't know what to do. He could write to Dumbledore; after the events of the previous school year, Harry knew that Dumbledore would consider no request for help too trivial to answer. But Dumbledore didn't know the Dursleys, and Harry wasn't sure he could get across to him just how much they hated and feared anything magical. The trick was to get through their animosity, and he wasn't sure that even Dumbledore could tell him how to do that. No, he'd have to figure this one out on his own.

Tomorrow, he decided. Tomorrow was Sunday. All three Dursleys would be at home, so Harry could talk to all of them at once. That way, he'd only have to say it once, and it was really too awful to have to repeat. 

Harry felt vaguely better for having made a decision. Tomorrow. Tomorrow, he would tell them, or at least try to tell them. Today, he thought with a grin, he'd play football. He kicked the ball high into the air with his toe, headed it as it fell, and raced off across the garden in pursuit.


	2. In His Relations' Care

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Disclaimer: It's all JKR's. 

Author's Note: Thanks again to Yolanda for the beta-reading.

Chapter Two—In His Relations' Care

The next day, Harry rose a little earlier than usual. He washed, dressed, and went downstairs to the kitchen, where Aunt Petunia was cooking breakfast. On every other day, breakfast at the Dursley house was pretty spartan—fruit and cereal, maybe some yoghurt—but Sunday breakfast was an event; it and Sunday dinner were the two meals of the week at which Dudley was allowed to go off his diet. The smell of frying bacon filled Harry's nostrils. 

"Would you like for me to take over the bacon so you can start the eggs, Aunt Petunia?" he asked. "Or I could do the eggs, but you're better at them than I am." Harry had been going out of his way to be nice to Aunt Petunia, but he never spoke less than the truth; her eggs were perfect, and his were always either runny or overdone.

His aunt's mouth set in that grim line that it always took when her attention was drawn to him, but she handed him the spatula civilly instead of shoving it at him. Harry considered this action evidence of progress, and he felt his resolve to speak waver again. All he wanted from the Dursleys was a little peace, and he had it; would he be a fool to mess it up?

His musings were interrupted by the entrances of Uncle Vernon and Dudley. "Hurry up with that bacon, boy," Vernon said by way of greeting. 

"Yes, sir. Here you go." Harry plopped a few rashers of bacon onto Uncle Vernon's plate. He turned to his cousin and asked, "Shall I cook yours a bit longer?" Uncle Vernon liked his bacon rather limp. At Dudley's nod, he returned to the stove and continued to cook the bacon. He finished just as Aunt Petunia was spooning eggs onto the plates. He served the bacon, took his seat, and began to eat. His thoughts turned back to the conversation that he would have to have with the other three folks at the table. How should he start? How would they react? How awful would it be? 

He realized that he was clenching his napkin up into a ball, and he tried to relax. The Dursleys were starting to push away their plates; Uncle Vernon was rising to go to the living room, where he would settle in behind his newspaper. Deciding to stall a little longer, Harry said, "Shall I do the washing up, Aunt Petunia?"

The grim line, the jerky nod. But this time, she added a grudging, "Thank you," and the unexpected politeness made Harry's breath catch. She followed her husband to the living room, and Dudley hurried out behind them.

Alone, Harry quickly washed the dishes. He even dried them and put them away instead of leaving them to drain. He wiped the counters, crumbed the table, and finally caught himself as he was starting to dust the chair legs. "You're stalling, Potter," he said softly. He sighed, squared his shoulders, and strode reluctantly into the living room. 

He paused in the doorway for a moment to observe the scene. Uncle Vernon was reading the paper, Aunt Petunia was spying out the window on Mrs. Next Door, and Dudley was doing something on his computer—blowing up aliens, no doubt, although the characteristic "Pow!" noises were absent; Dudley had blown out the speakers the week before, so now his games were blissfully silent. All in all, it looked like as good a time as any. Harry cleared his throat quietly to announce his presence. Three pairs of eyes turned toward him. Dudley moved as if to leave his chair and bolt from the room, but Harry held up a hand to stop him, and he noticed, with a strangely disconnected feeling, that the hand was shaking a little. "Don't. Please, stay. Just for a bit. We … er …." Harry took a breath and continued, "We need to talk."

He let those words hang in the air as he moved toward an unoccupied chair. The silence was broken by a derisive snort from Uncle Vernon. "None of us have anything to say to the likes of you, boy," he said.

Harry frowned as he took his seat. "Okay, then, _I_ need to talk, and you need to listen. Something's happened, and it might affect you … all of you. You need to know." He paused to see whether they were still with him; it appeared that they were, so he continued, "You remember the Dark wizard who killed my parents."

"Stop right there, boy!" Uncle Vernon bellowed. "We will not discuss your abnormality in this house!"

Harry's nerves, already frayed from apprehension, snapped. Here he was, trying to help them, and they were playing their same old stupid games. He stood up abruptly—so abruptly, he noticed, that it startled everyone—and replied coldly, "Fine. Don't listen. Stick your head in the sand. But when you're begging a Death Eater to spare your pathetic life, don't blame me." He stalked out of the living room and up the stairs to his bedroom, where he slammed the door shut behind him. He flopped down on his bed. He'd tried. It hadn't worked, and he'd probably shattered the hard-won peace, but at least he'd tried. 

Harry picked up his book and tried to read, but his eyes wouldn't focus on the page. Suddenly, he was interrupted by the sound of a hand on his doorknob. His hand immediately flew to his wand pocket, but he check himself before he had drawn it. "Calm down," he thought. The door didn't open, and Harry wondered if his unexpected visitor had had a change of heart, but then there was a knock—a very tentative knock. Apparently, whoever was on the other side had first planned to barge in but had then decided to knock. Interesting. Curious, Harry called, "Who is it?"

"It's me. Can I … I mean, may I come in … Cousin?"

Dudley? Dudley who had never knocked on a door in his life? Dudley who had never called Harry anything but "you"? "Yes, come in," Harry said, hope and suspicion warring in his mind.

The door swung open, and Dudley stepped uncertainly into the room. He stood awkwardly, and Harry gestured to his desk chair. Dudley sat, and he and Harry regarded one another for a moment. 

Harry realised that he hadn't really looked at his cousin in a long time—probably not since the summer before, when Dudley's tongue had been four feet long. He looked different. Not just his tongue, which would be expected to look different, but all of him. "You look…" he started to say, "slimmer," but realised that it might seem insulting, particularly since Dudley was still far from svelte.

"Not so fat?" Dudley said, finishing the sentence. "You're too polite to say it, but it's the truth. I was fat. And I'm still fat, but not so fat as I was." 

Harry wasn't quite sure how to reply to that, so he settled on a shrug.

"I quit cheating on my diet," his cousin continued. "So now I'm losing weight. Slowly, but losing it."

"How come you quit cheating?" Harry asked.

Dudley smiled ruefully. "I was getting picked on at school for being so fat. Kind of…whatchamacallit…. When you do something bad for a long time, and then the same bad thing gets done to you? Poetic… license?"

"Poetic justice," Harry supplied automatically. Then he realised what his cousin was saying. "So you figured out that it's no fun being bullied." Dudley nodded. He opened his mouth, and Harry knew that he was about to apologise for bullying Harry in the past. Harry didn't need or want to hear the apology, so he broke in, with more good will than tact, "But you were bigger than they were. Wasn't it dangerous for them to pick on you?"

Dudley took the change of subject as it was meant. The "I'm-about-to-apologise" expression left his face, and he headed off on this new conversational track. "Yeah, I was bigger than each of them alone. But three or four of them together were bigger than me."

"Yeah, I guess all of them together would be bigger." This offhand remark made something click in Harry's brain, but he didn't have time to think about it yet. He wanted to concentrate on Dudley. "Anyway, you look good. More fit. Sorry to blurt it out; it just took me by surprise. I hadn't noticed before. Hadn't really looked at you. Haven't really looked at anything since I got home; I've been kind of preoccupied." His green eyes met Dudley's watery blue ones, and he held his breath, willing his cousin to pick up the conversational gauntlet that he had just thrown down. 

He did pick it up. "I've noticed." He paused a moment, and then asked, with worry in his voice, "Are we in danger, cousin? I mean, Mum and Dad and me?"

"Not immediate danger, I think. There's some kind of protective spe-" He cut his own sentence short. "Let's go out in the garden to talk." At Dudley's puzzled glance, he explained, "Your father doesn't want this stuff mentioned in his house."

Dudley, always a little slow, pondered that statement for a moment. Finally, it dawned on him. "So we go outside, and then it's not being mentioned in the house." He grinned. "That's funny!" He sounded surprised, like it had never occurred to him that Harry be funny. He lifted his still-considerable bulk from Harry's desk chair and followed Harry into the garden. 

*

Two hours later, Dudley and Harry returned to the house. Harry felt tired, like he had just played a long Quidditch match. He had told Dudley everything. He had started with just the basics—Voldemort's return to power and the dangers that it might mean—but Dudley looked so lost that Harry had decided to tell it all. After he had finished telling about Voldemort, Dudley had asked a lot of questions about Hogwarts and the magical world. At one point, he had said, in response to some description of Harry's, "So some wizards are good, and some are bad, and some are somewhere in between." And he had added, in a tone of near-wonder, "It sounds a lot like regular people." It had been a good talk.

Dudley promised to try to talk to his parents, to tell them enough so that they would at least realise just what sort of danger they might be facing. So long as Harry was in their care, they were probably safe, but they still needed to be on guard. And they needed to know that Harry wasn't just receiving owls in order to annoy them. Dudley would tell them; they would listen to him.

Harry sat in his room and thought, for the first time in a long time, about his cousin. Dudley wasn't very smart, or very brave, or very noble, but he was Harry's cousin, and he was starting to try to grow up and to do the right thing when he could. And that, Harry reflected, was probably all that could reasonably be expected of anyone.


	3. Resolutions

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Disclaimer: Everything belongs to J. K. Rowling. I'm not making any money from this story.

Author's Note: Sorry for the delay in this chapter, folks; I was having dialogue trouble, and it took a while to get Harry sorted out. Thanks to my trusty beta-reader, Yolanda, for helping me keep Harry from sounding like a 25-year-old grad student. And thanks to folks who reviewed!

P.S. Sorry about the formatting weirdnesses; I forgot to save in HTML format. I've re-loaded this chapter to fix them.

Chapter Three—Resolutions

Whatever Dudley said to Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon must have worked, for Harry received neither glares nor snide remarks when the _Daily Prophet_ owl flew in during breakfast. He started to set the paper aside and wait until after breakfast to read it, but a headline caught his eye as it fell open. Disappearances Baffle Ministry. Harry stared at the paper for a moment, torn between wanting to pick it up and read the article now and wanting to wait and read it when he was alone and away from the judgmental eyes of his aunt and uncle.

"Anything wrong, cousin?" Dudley asked. There was no malice in his voice, no happiness at having caught Harry looking worried—only concern and a little worry of his own. 

"The banner headline doesn't look good," Harry answered. "I don't mean to be rude and read at the table, but this might be important. Do you mind?" He addressed the question to his aunt, and, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Uncle Vernon glance up a little guiltily from behind his own newspaper. Aunt Petunia shook her head, indicating that Harry should read, and he picked up the paper and started to read.

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Three more high-ranking Ministry officials vanished without a trace last night, bringing the total number of missing Ministry workers to six, writes _Daily Prophet_ reporter Candace Kane_. Althea Simmons, Deputy Minister of the top-secret Department of Mysteries, Ewan Tydfil-Cynon, head of Accidental Magical Reversal Squad, and Butler Innisfree, Deputy Minister for the Department of Magical Catastrophes, were all reported missing by their families last night. None have been seen since leaving the Ministry yesterday evening. These officials join Ludo Bagman and Bertha Jorkins, both of the Department of Magical Games and Sports, and Bartimious Crouch, Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, on the list of the Ministry's current missing members. Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge reported, "The Ministry has the matter firmly in hand. We are taking all the necessary steps, and we are confident that the missing Ministry workers will be found soon." Minister Fudge declined to comment further._

The Department of Magical Law Enforcement requests that anyone who has information on the locations of any of the missing workers should contact their Department immediately.

Harry put down the paper to find all eyes turned toward him. After a moment of considering how to put things so that his aunt and uncle would understand and so that he wouldn't have to say much about magic, he said, "A few high-ranking civil servants went missing last night. Vanished without a trace. Disappearances were apparently pretty common last time, so it's kind of worrying." 

"Nothing to do with us, though," Uncle Vernon said, sounding pleased with himself. "These… these civil servants… they're all _your_ kind, not ours."

"They're all wizards, if that's what you mean," Harry replied, trying to keep his voice steady, to push away the feeling of anger that threatened to make him speak sharply.

Uncle Vernon immediately turned purple. "I won't have your abnormality-"

Harry, feeling a sudden rush of mischief amid the anger, cut him off. "And, being _wizards_, they of course work for the Ministry of _Magic_. The ones who disappeared last night worked for the Department of _Mysteries_, and the Department of _Magical_ Catastrophes, and the Department of Accidental _Magical_ Reversal. Those last are the lot who showed up to reverse the _magic_ that made your sister blow up like a hot-air balloon. They use _wands_, like this one." He paused, grinning, to remove his wand from his pocket. He held it up and watched as his aunt and uncle both pushed their chairs back as though to run. Uncle Vernon's face, which had turned more and more purple with every word that Harry emphasised, suddenly turned white. Dudley looked like he might be smothering a grin. Harry returned the wand to his pocket and continued, seriously this time. "But, aside from having magical powers, they're not that different from you. They're human, just like you are." Harry looked very seriously at Uncle Vernon, to whose face the normal color had started to return, and added, "Next time, it might be Muggles, and next time, it might be deaths instead of disappearances. Do you understand that?"

Uncle Vernon glared at him. "I don't like your attitude, boy."

"And I don't like yours," Harry replied. "But I won't make a big deal out of things if you won't."

There was a long pause, and Uncle Vernon finally said, "Fine. But you meet those owls upstairs from now on; I'll not have them in the kitchen. And don't go pestering us with any nonsense from your newspaper."

"Just as you choose," Harry answered. If Uncle Vernon wanted to avoid the truth, that was fine with Harry. He knew the danger, and Harry couldn't really blame him for not wanting to hear about the ways that the danger was creeping nearer. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some letters that I need to write. I'll be up in my room, Aunt Petunia, if you need me." Petunia nodded, and Harry left the table, stopping to rinse out his cereal dish before he went back upstairs. He did need to write some letters. These disappearances had him really worried, and he hoped that some of his friends might be able to tell him more; it was obvious that the _Daily Prophet_ reporter either didn't know or wasn't allowed to tell the full story. Maybe Ron would have heard more from his father. 

Harry sat down at his desk and took up his quill. 

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Dear Ron,

I just read in the Daily Prophet_ about the disappearances, does your dad know anything? It was pretty obvious that paper wasn't telling the whole story. _

Things are almost decent here, for a change. You know how I wrote that the Muggles finally seemed to be used to the idea that I have to be here? Well, they're still being almost civil (except for Uncle Vernon, and even he isn't being too bad for him.) Anyway, the other day I tried to tell them about what's happening, and of course Uncle Vernon started ranting before I had two sentences out. So I yelled at him and stormed out of the room. Pretty typical exchange. But then you'll never guess who came knocking on my door—Dudley! Actually knocked instead of barging in! And we had a really good talk, I think he's finally starting to grow up a little. So he said he'd talk to his mum and dad, and they seem to be acting a little better. Uncle Vernon's still ranting about "I'll not have your abnormality mentioned in this house," and we had kind of a scene at breakfast, but he did agree not to make a big deal out of things. We'll see how long that holds. 

How are things at The Burrow? I really hope Dumbledore will let me come, even if Dudley and Aunt Petunia are being almost civil, it's still pretty dull here. 

I'd better sign off and write to Snuffles. He still hasn't said exactly what he's up to for Dumbledore, and he never says anything about where he is. Probably because he's afraid someone might find the letters. Since I don't know how much news he gets, I reckoned I'd better tell him about these disappearances. Say Hi to everyone for me, and let me know what your dad says.

Harry

After finishing Ron's letter, Harry wrote one to Sirius to fill him on the disappearances. He also wrote to Hermione. He knew that she wouldn't know any more about what was going on than he did, but he still liked to keep in touch; he suspected that she felt just as isolated from the wizarding world as he did during the summers. They both had _Daily Prophet_ subscriptions, but the drips and drabs of news weren't enough for Harry, and he doubted that they were enough for Hermione, either.

Harry sealed up each of the letters and then took them over to his owl, Hedwig, who was snoozing on her perch. She awoke at Harry's approach, spreading her wings and stroking down her smooth, white feathers with her beak. Harry thought that she looked a lot like a person waking up and stretching. "Good morning, sleepyhead," he said. Hedwig nipped his finger affectionately. "I have three letters to go the three different places. Do you think you can keep them all straight?" Hedwig stood up very erect and looked rather offended, as if to say that _of course_ she could keep them straight. Harry chuckled. "I thought so." Tying the letters to her leg as he talked, he explained, "This one's for Ron, and this one's for Sirius, and this one's for Hermione. Don't wait around for a reply at Ron's—he'll send Pig along when he's ready—but wait and see if Sirius or Hermione have replies, okay?" Hedwig hooted affirmatively, nipped Harry's finger again, and soared off out the window. Harry watched until she was out of sight. Then he sat back down at his desk to think. He skimmed the rest of the newspaper, found nothing else of note, and laid it aside. 

It had started. It had started, and the Ministry was still in denial. Of the three workers listed as earlier disappearances, two were dead. Harry knew that one had been tortured and killed by Voldemort himself; the other had been killed by his own son, one of Voldemort's supporters and the man who had caused Harry and Cedric to end up in the graveyard where Voldemort rose again. Minister Fudge knew about the deaths, and he was still claiming that they were "missing." Blind, cowardly, power-addled fool. Harry sighed. They would meet it when it came, but meeting it would be much easier if they didn't have to deal with opposition from people who were supposed to be on the good side. 

Meeting it would also be much easier, he reflected, if he were fully trained. As a rising fifth-year, he didn't know nearly as much magic as fully-schooled wizards. He would have to take his schoolwork much more seriously this year. Hermione had always been the swot of the bunch, and Harry and Ron had often teased her about it, but Harry knew that it was time to take a leaf out of her book. This year, he decided, he would stop fooling around. 

On impulse, Harry grabbed a sheet of parchment and wrote at the top "Resolutions." He knew that most people made resolutions at the New Year, but he reckoned it didn't really matter when you made them. The New Year was supposed to represent change, but the events surrounding Voldemort's rebirth were a bigger change than any day on the calendar could ever be. He looked at the sheet for a moment and then wrote, "1. Take schoolwork seriously." Then he twiddled with his quill a bit and thought. What else did he need to do this year?

"2. Don't let Snape get to me." That was a big one. Professor Snape, the Potions Master at Hogwarts, had gone to school with Harry's father, and he had been a sworn enemy of James Potter and all his friends. This enmity had carried over to James's son. From the first day of class, Snape had gone out of his way to show everyone that he didn't like Harry one bit. Harry, in the face of such unreasoning hatred, had been first bewildered and then angry, and his emotions had quickly settled into a strong antipathy of their own. But Snape, after spending some time on the Dark side, had turned against Voldemort and had been a strong ally for Dumbledore during Voldemort's previous reign, and Harry didn't like the idea of having enemies on his own side. It was too much to hope that Snape would ever treat him with anything but contempt, but at least Harry could try to rise above it. 

On the theme of rising above it, Harry continued his list with, "3. Ignore Malfoy." Second to Voldemort, Draco Malfoy was Harry's worst enemy, and, though far less dangerous, he was much more annoying than the Dark Lord. He was in Harry's year at Hogwarts, and it seemed that his only pleasure in life was taunting Harry and his friends. Harry knew that Lucius Malfoy, Draco's father, was a Death Eater, and the son seemed to be heading down the same path. In short, Draco Malfoy was a horrid, snobbish, foul-tempered little worm. In the past, though, the little worm had been quite adept at making Harry rise to his bait; he knew how to push people's buttons—Harry's in particular and Ron's even more so. At their last encounter, an ugly scene on the Hogwarts Express as it brought the students home for the summer, Malfoy's baiting had taken the form of a snide remark about Cedric—a remark that had earned him a thorough hexing from Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ron's twin brothers, Fred and George. Though hexing Malfoy into next week had been satisfying, Harry knew that it wouldn't always be an option. Ignoring him, pretending that he didn't exist, was the next best thing. Harry would just have to get better at turning off his emotions, at thinking about other things. The books that he had been reading this summer might help with that; his current one, one of Hermione's recommendations, a book called _Pride and Prejudice_ (whose title had reminded him of Malfoy but whose characters were all much less objectionable), was full of people who knew how not to rise to bait. And when they chose to rise to it—and it always did feel like a choice—they always seemed to have the perfect thing to say. Harry considered making "Practice witty replies like Elizabeth Bennet's" the fourth item on his list, but he decided that such practice would not be conducive to a quiet life at the Dursleys. Uncle Vernon didn't seem like the type to appreciate a well-crafted squelch. Harry twirled his quill some more, idly wishing that his uncle could be more like Mr. Bennet; _there_ was a man who appreciated an apt rejoinder. Of course, if his aunt were more like Mrs. Bennet, she'd be completely unbearable. He grinned at the thought of Aunt Petunia wittering on like Elizabeth's mother, then returned his attention to his current task.

Instead of writing "Practice witty replies," Harry wrote, as a corollary to his third item, "And get Ron and Hermione to ignore him, too." Convincing Hermione to ignore Malfoy shouldn't be too hard; she was by far the best of the three at controlling her temper. (Most of the time, anyway; she _had_ hauled off and smacked Malfoy once during their third year, but Harry attributed that incident to mental fatigue caused by trying to take too many classes.) Ron was another story; Harry had lost count of the number of times that he and Hermione had had to hold onto Ron's robes to keep him from throwing himself at Malfoy. But Harry intended to do his best to convince Ron that ignoring Malfoy was the best thing to do. Malfoy wasn't important. Malfoy was an insignificant git. Malfoy wasn't worth getting into trouble over. Maybe if Harry continued to repeat these and similar sentiments to Ron, they would sink in. If all else failed, he could tell Ron to shut out any comments that Malfoy made by closing his eyes and picturing Draco Malfoy, the Amazing Bouncing Ferret.

After he had finished grinning at the thought, Harry refocussed on his list. "4. Stay informed." Not that he really needed to write that one down, but he might as well make a thorough job of this list. 

After a brief struggle with his baser self, Harry added, "5. Go to Dumbledore." He did need to write that one down, and he knew he needed to follow through on it in spite of his reflexive reluctance to do so. In the past, he had tried to do things on his own far too much. Asking for help, especially from authority figures, didn't come naturally to Harry, who tended to keep his problems to himself and try to work them out himself. (And Harry usually a pretty decent job of things on his own, if he did say so himself—with a healthy does of help from his friends, of course. He still marvelled that the three of them had managed to get out of some of their scrapes alive, and, when he stopped to think about what they'd done together, it always gave him a pleasant feeling of pride.) Last year marked the first time that he had gone to Dumbledore straight away about a problem, and it was the best decision he had ever made. He knew that Dumbledore couldn't solve every problem, but he could solve a lot more problems than Harry could ever hope to solve alone. Also, as head of the forces for good, Dumbledore needed to be kept informed of anything that had a remote chance of helping in the fight against Voldemort. No matter how much it went against Harry's instinctive reticence, Dumbledore needed to know. If anything at all went wrong, Harry promised himself that he would go to Dumbledore. Besides, Dumbledore always managed to make Harry feel better once he finally broke down and talked with him. 

"6. Be careful." Harry looked at the words. He wasn't exactly sure how "Be careful" would play out, but it wouldn't hurt to have the thought on paper. And that, he decided, should do it. There were other things that he wanted to do this year, from the mundane ("Win the Quidditch Cup") to the critical ("Defeat Voldemort once and for all") but they all seemed too much out of his own control to belong on a list of resolutions. Harry folded the list and placed it as a bookmark in _Pride and Prejudice_. He wanted to have the list nearby for a few days so he could add to it if he felt the need. He laid the book on his desk and thought about what to do now. He decided that looking back over his textbooks from the previous year wouldn't be a bad idea. The Tri-wizard Tournament Champions had been excused from the end-of-the-year exams, so Harry hadn't been tested on any of his subjects—not in the classroom, anyway; his duel with Voldemort had been more of a test than even Snape could have devised—and he was a little worried about whether he'd be prepared for his classes next year. It would be difficult to "Take schoolwork seriously" if he turned out to be behind the rest of his class. After a moment's reflection, Harry decided to look over his Potions textbook, a task which worked toward satisfying both "Take schoolwork seriously" and "Don't let Snape get to me." He dug his copy of _Magical Drafts and Potions_ from the bottom of his school trunk, found his Potions notes, and set to studying.


	4. Travelling Again

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It all belongs to Rowling. Standard disclaimers apply. 

Author's Note: Thanks again to Yolanda for beta-ing, and thanks to the folks who have reviewed! 

Chapter Four—Travelling Again

The next few weeks passed fairly calmly. Each morning, Harry would wait in his room for the _Daily Prophet_ owl to arrive; when it did, he would skim the paper quickly before going downstairs to breakfast with the Dursleys. When he arrived at the table, Dudley would catch his eye, and Harry would let him know, by a quick facial expression, whether or not the day's paper contained more bad news. If it did not, that was the end, and the cousins would not see one another again until lunchtime. If it did, Dudley would meet Harry outside after breakfast and read the relevant article for himself. Then Harry would reassure him. Neither boy ever spoke of the events reported by the paper in Uncle Vernon's presence, and Harry was able to maintain the state of uneasy truce.

For the first time, Harry had managed to craft a tolerable schedule for himself at Number Four, Privet Drive. Mornings, before the day got too warm, were for football drills; afternoons were for study; evenings were for pleasure reading. After finishing the interesting volumes of "Works of the English Greats," Harry had politely asked Aunt Petunia if he might be allowed to go to the local library once a week. It was the only request that he had made of her all summer, and, though her mouth set in its same grim line, she had agreed that he could, so long as Dudley accompanied him. Every Thursday morning, Harry traded his football drills for a walk to the library just a mile from the Dursley house—a walk whose speed increased each week as Dudley's wind gradually improved. The library didn't have much of a selection, but Harry discovered that he liked mystery stories, and he read Dorothy Sayers and Dick Francis with gusto. He could usually figure out who the villain was, and he wondered if this ability had something to do with magic; he'd have to ask Dumbledore. Dudley read computer magazines while Harry selected his books; he never checked out any books of his own, but he sometimes borrowed videotapes. After Harry had finished selecting and checking out, the cousins would walk to the ice cream parlour on the way home; since Harry had no Muggle money, Dudley always paid, saying that Harry could repay him bypromising not to tell Aunt Petunia about their stops. He only ate frozen yoghurt, though, and only a small cone, so Aunt Petunia probably wouldn't have minded even if Harry had told her. From the ice cream parlour, they would return to Privet Drive; Harry would go study his textbooks, and Dudley would watch his videos or go visit his friend Piers. It was a quiet routine, and Harry found it comforting. His school year had been too full of excitement, and Harry rather enjoyed this period when the biggest excitement was mastering a chess plan and the most important decision was which ice cream flavour to try this week.

He did not, however, enjoy the routine so much that he wanted the summer to last; rather, he longed for it to end. Though he kept in touch with Ron and Hermione—the wrote at least every other day, and sometimes daily, and they had sent wonderful things on Harry's birthday—it wasn't the same as talking, as spending their days together. He missed them. So when Pig arrived with a letter saying that Dumbledore had agreed for Harry to spend the last two weeks of vacation with the Weasley family and that Hermione's parents had said that she could come, too, Harry was thrilled. He immediately wrote back accepting the offer and telling Ron not to come and pick him up by Floo powder this time; last time had been a disaster. Harry could take the Knight Bus to London the next evening and Floo from there on his own. Harry tied the letter to Pig's leg and sent him off. He debated for a moment about whether to tell his aunt and uncle now that he would be going or whether it might be simpler, given Uncle Vernon's tetchiness, to wait and tell them as he was walking out the door. He decided that waiting would be cowardly, so he went downstairs to tell Dudley and Aunt Petunia his news.

Dudley was watching the last of his videos—tomorrow was library day, and he wanted to finish in time to take them back—but he paused the tape when Harry sat down in a chair that faced away from the television screen. "What is it, cousin?" he said.

"I'm leaving tomorrow evening. Just wanted to let you know."

"But your school doesn't start for two more weeks. Where are you going?"

"To visit my friend Ron; he just owled to invite me." Harry grinned at the thought of time at The Burrow. "Ron's whole family is great, and it'll be really good to feel like I'm a part of … you know … that world again. It feels kind of isolated here." Dudley nodded. "Do you miss your school friends when you're home?" Harry asked. 

Dudley shrugged. "Not really. My only real friend from Smeltings is Piers, and he lives close by, so there's really no one to miss. I don't really like school, but at least there nobody tries to baby me all the time. I mean, it's bad, but it's a different kind of bad. Here, Mum smothers me, and there, nobody pays any attention to me except to tease me or yell at me. But, you know, it's a routine. I get used to it enough that I kind of miss it a little when I'm away." He shrugged again.

Harry shuddered inwardly. What an awful school life. He thought of Hogwarts, where he had friends, and good teachers, and Quidditch, and parties in the Common Room. Not that it was perfect—there was Snape, after all, and Draco Malfoy and the rest of the Slytherins—but it was good. Not just a different kind of bad. 

Interesting, though, to hear Dudley complain about Aunt Petunia's fussing over him. For the first time, Harry reckoned that life at the Dursley house had been bad for both of the children in it. Before, he had just thought about it from his own point of view—the neglect, the way Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had always favored Dudley and treated Harry like a second-class citizen. But now he saw that their favoritism had probably been as much of disservice to their son as their neglect had been to their nephew. Perhaps more of a disservice; at least Harry had learned how to cope with adversity. Dudley, who had never faced it, hadn't ever had a chance to learn to cope with it. Now that he was growing up, he seemed to be starting to realise that not everyone would pander to him the way his parents did. Harry thought that the lesson was coming a bit late, but at least it was coming. He wondered if Draco Malfoy, the other spoiled brat of his acquaintance, would ever have the lesson come to him. 

Dudley's voice broke Harry's musings. "Will we be safe when you're gone—Mum and Dad and me?"

Harry shrugged uncertainly. "I think so. I think whatever this … this protection thing is will work for as long as your mum and dad are my guardians. And, if it doesn't work like that, I'm sure my Headmaster will set up some sort of protection for you." At Dudley's alarmed look, Harry added hastily, "Not anything that your parents will notice—not anything anybody would notice. If Dumbledore doesn't want you to see it, you won't see it. But it will be there, keeping you safe." Harry fervently hoped that his reassuring words were true. He'd have to have some kind of talk with Dumbledore sometime to see just what kind of protection was guarding himself and his relatives.

Dudley nodded. "If anything happens that you think I should know about, will you write to me? You don't have to tell me every little thing, but, if there's any big disaster that you think might affect us …" He trailed off uncertainly.

"Sure," Harry agreed. "So long as you don't mind the occasional owl tapping on your dormitory window." He grinned, and his cousin grinned back. "Anyway, I should go tell your mum that I'll be leaving tomorrow. I just wanted to let you know." He rose from his chair and walked into the kitchen, where Aunt Petunia was chopping potatoes for supper. "Do you need any help, Aunt Petunia?" Harry asked.

Wordlessly, she pushed some of the potatoes across the table. Harry collected an extra cutting board and knife and set to work. They chopped in silence for a moment, and then Harry said, "I'm leaving tomorrow evening for my friend Ron's house."

Aunt Petunia stopped chopping and looked up, startled. "You can't! We won't be safe!"

"You will. Dudley and I have already talked about it. I don't know just how the protective … " Harry nearly said "protective spells," but he caught himself in time. " … protective things work, but you will be safe while I'm gone, and so will I. My Headmaster would never have given permission for me to go to Ron's if there was any danger."

"Vernon won't take you! I'll tell him not to!" Aunt Petunia's voice rose hysterically.

Harry looked at her, surprised. "You've spent the bigger part of fourteen years wanting me gone. Now I tell you that you'll have two extra weeks free of me, and you're going crazy. What do you want?"

"I want my family to be safe! And if keeping you here is the only way for that to be assured, then you need to be here."

Harry didn't know what to say to that. He decided to ignore the part of him that felt angry about Aunt Petunia thinking he was only around for her convenience and to focus instead on the part of himthat wanted to avoid making a scene. "You'll be perfectly safe. And I don't need for Uncle Vernon to take me; I've arranged to get there on my own, so you won't need to take any trouble." 

"I won't have those … those … people in my house again! You know what happened last time."

Harry fought to keep his face straight. He did indeed know what had happened last time, and, despite his newfound peace with his cousin, the memory still made him want to laugh. When he was sure that no trace of a chuckle would show in his voice, he replied, "They won't be coming here; as I said, I'm going on my own."

"But…."

Harry was tired of arguing. Thinking of Lord Peter, the well-mannered, smooth-talking detective whose perfect rejoinders rivaled even Elizabeth Bennet, he gently cut in on whatever objections his aunt was about to make. "Aunt Petunia, you don't seem to understand. I am not asking your permission. I am not debating with you. The matter is already decided, and I am informing you of my plans simply as a courtesy." There. Simple, to the point, and brooking no dissent. Lord Peter would approve.

Lord Peter would also sweep gracefully from the room after pinning his victim for a few moments with a steely-eyed stare. However, Lord Peter wouldn't have a pile of potatoes to finish chopping. Harry settled for the brief, steely-eyed stare followed by the obvious turning of his attention to something else, as though Aunt Petunia was no longer worth his time. He finished the potatoes, pushed them across the table without meeting her eyes, and left the kitchen. With a wave to Dudley, whose attention had turned back to his video, Harry went upstairs to pack his trunk.

Packing didn't take long, for Harry hadn't unpacked much. Most of his possessions from the wizarding world—his robes, his Firebolt, his school supplies—had stayed in the trunk all summer, and the few things that he had used, like his books and his chess set, had only come out of the trunk when he needed them. A few extra trips around the room assured that Harry hadn't forgotten anything. Now, he just had to get through the rest of today and through part of tomorrow, and then he'd be at the Burrow. 

That thought was enough to carry Harry through dinner and breakfast with a particularly foul-tempered Uncle Vernon (with a nearly-nightmare-free night between the two meals). He took one last walk to the library with Dudley, had one last stop at the ice cream parlour, and ate one last lunch with a sulking Aunt Petunia. He forced himself to concentrate through an afternoon of study, knowing (and relishing the knowledge) that he probably wouldn't get any work done at the Burrow. He ate his last dinner with the Dursleys and stayed upstairs, out of the way, until dusk fell; he wasn't sure that the Knight Bus worked before dark. 

Once he reckoned that it was dark enough, he ventured downstairs with his trunk and Hedwig's empty cage; the owl was out delivering a letter to Sirius, and Harry had told her to meet him at the Burrow. Harry left his gear in the hall and stepped into the living room, where all of the Dursleys were sitting. "I'm off," he said. When no one replied, he added, "I hope that you all have a good year." 

Vernon grunted. Petunia pressed her lips together in that grim line. Only Dudley seemed to pay any real attention, asking, "Want me to come and wait with you?" Harry nodded, and the two left the room. "Sorry about them," Dudley said when they were out of earshot.

"It's okay. Tough to change fourteen years of bad feelings in one summer."

"We seem to have done it."

Harry grinned at his cousin. "Yeah, we have, haven't we? I'm glad."

"Me, too." 

The two stood awkwardly for a moment. Harry broke the silence with, "Well, I'd better call the bus. Stay back a bit; the driver's a little unpredictable." Dudley looked astonished that wizards had anything so, well, _normal_ as busses. Harry imagined that his astonishment at this unexpected normalness would change as soon as he got a look at the Knight Bus. Harry held out his wand like hailing a taxi. Almost immediately, there was a loud BANG and a flash of light. A triple-decker bus in a lurid shade of purple appeared right in front of Harry. Dudley made a sound of sheer amazement. "Pretty neat, eh?" Harry said. "Have a good school year, Dudley."

"You, too." Dudley gawked for a moment at the purple-uniformed conductor who leapt from the bus, shook his head, and hurried back inside. 

The conductor watched him go for just a second and then broke into an obviously well-practised speech. "Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard. Just stick out your want hand, step aboard … " He suddenly broke off as though he had just noticed Harry. "Neville!" he exclaimed. 

Harry suppressed a shudder at the memory of the last time that he had flagged down this bus, when he had used the name of one of his classmates as an ill-chosen alias. "Harry," he corrected. "Hi, Stan." 

A big grin appeared on Stan's pimply face. "Hey, Ern!" he called to the driver, "It's Neville Longbottom! I mean 'Arry Potter!"

Harry heard Ern's voice reply, "Then 'elp his with 'is trunk, Stan, so we can move on, there's good lad." 

Stan, suddenly remembering his job, picked up the trunk and ushered Harry onto the bus. "Where you goin', 'Arry?" he asked.

"London," Harry replied. "The Leaky Cauldron. Will eleven Sickles still get me there?" 

"Firteen now. Inflation. Can't get nuffink these days for a fair price. Firteen used to get you 'ot chocolate." He accepted Harry's money and gestured back into the depths of the bus. "You can 'ave your choice of beds; just you tonight on account a' it's so early yet. Be a quick trip." Harry chose a bed about halfway back, far enough to avoid Stan's endless chatter. Stan followed him, stowed his trunk under the bed that he'd chosen, and headed back to the front of the bus. As Stan was making his way back to the front, Harry lay down on the bed and gripped the edge. Last time on the night bus, the acceleration had thrown him flat on the bed, and this time he wanted to be prepared. Stan arrived at the front of the bus and dropped into his armchair next to the driver, and Harry heard him say, "Take 'er away, Ern." There was another BANG, and, when Harry managed to sit up, the bus was barrelling down Charing Cross Road. Harry could have taken the bus straight to The Burrow, but he thought that such a move might be too dangerous. Harry could just picture Death Eaters torturing Stan for information about where the bus had taken Harry. To protect Stan—as well as himself—Harry had decided to go to London, a completely innocuous location, and to travel on from there. 

The bus soon arrived at the Leaky Cauldron, and Stan helped Harry with his trunk and Hedwig's cage. "Thanks, Stan," Harry said to the conductor. "By the way, if anyone asks you about me, tell them that you dropped me off here, okay? I have some friends who might be wondering where I am—I'm not sure my owl got to them yet—so they might be looking for me." 

That was half-true, anyway, and Stan wasn't sharp enough to be suspicious. "Sure fing, 'Arry! G'bye!" Stan hopped back on the bus, which disappeared with another BANG. 

Harry looked for a moment at the spot where the bus had been; even though he was used to things that appeared and disappeared with no warning, the Knight Bus still unnerved him a little. Then he turned at entered the Leaky Cauldron.

It was after ten o'clock, and the pub was nearly empty. Tom, the wizened landlord, was simultaneous serving the few patrons and controlling a cloth that was wiping tables. When he caught sight of Harry, he grinned his toothless grin and called, "Evening, Mr. Potter!"

"Evening, Tom," Harry replied. He didn't know Tom's last name. Maybe pub-keepers didn't even have last names.

"Will you be wanting a room for the night?"

"No, thank you," Harry replied politely. "Just a pot of tea. And I need to borrow one of your parlours with a private fireplace so I can Floo to the place where I'm staying tonight." Tom finished pouring the drinks, Summoned the cloth, and then led Harry along a narrow passage to a small parlour. It was not, Harry noted, the same parlour that he had once sat in with Cornelius Fudge, the Minister for Magic. Tom placed the pot of tea on Harry's table and clicked his fingers, causing a fire to burst to life in the fireplace. Harry bid him goodbye, and Tom left the room, closing the door behind him. Harry drank a bit of tea and then poured the rest into the soil around a potted plant that sat on the mantle above the fire. He hadn't really wanted the tea, but he'd felt that he should buy something since he was using Tom's fireplace. Harry left his payment on the table and grabbed a handful of Floo powder from an urn next to the plant. He tossed the powder into the fire, set his trunk and Hedwig's cage in quickly, took off his glasses and put them in his pocket, and climbed into the flames. "The Burrow!" he called. 

He began to spin very fast, and the parlour vanished in a rush of emerald flames. The spinning increased, and Harry closed his eyes. Travelling by Floo powder always made him queasy. When he felt himself slowing down, he threw out his hands just in time to avoid falling on his face when he landed. Seconds later, he was sprawling on top of his trunk in the Weasleys' kitchen fireplace. 

"Hello, Harry, dear!" As Harry fumbled in his pocket for his glasses, Molly Weasley's voice greeted him cheerfully. The short, slightly plump woman hugged him as soon as he was out of the fire. "So good to see you!" She took a step back and looked at him appraisingly. "You're much too thin, Harry, dear. Those relatives of yours haven't been starving you again, have they?"

Harry, amused that Mrs. Weasley was finally allowing herself to criticise his relatives' care of him, assured her that they hadn't been starving him. He didn't mention that he simply hadn't had much appetite. 

"Good. At any rate, you are too, thin, and we'll have to work on that. And you've gotten so tall!" Harry realised that he had indeed grown a bit over the summer; he was now a little taller than Mrs. Weasley. 

"Yeah, you're almost as tall now as, say, the average second-year." This observation was from Ron, who was grinning at Harry over his mother's head. As one of the tallest boys in their year, Ron would hardly be impressed by Harry's few inches. He stepped around Mrs. Weasley to cuff Harry playfully on the arm. Harry cuffed him back, feeling his face split into the first real grin that it had worn in ages. 

His grin only widened as Fred and George, Ron's twin brothers who would be starting their final year at Hogwarts, each grabbed one of his arms and steered him to a chair at the kitchen table. The two were, as usual, talking over one another.

"… absolutely have to try our new chewing gum, it puts Drooble's …"

"…completely to shame. And we've gotten an offer from Zonko's for six …

"… no, seven dozen of our fake wands. And you know those Muggle toys, what are they called, Fred?"

"Hand buzzers. They're a ruddy brilliant concept, although the Muggles don't realise …"

"… the potential at all. We're working on some magical versions that are a little more …"

"… creative. So how has your summer been?"

Trying to listen to the twins in their more excited mode always made Harry's head spin. He managed to get out a "Pretty good" before they were off again, telling him more about their new inventions. Ron had written that the twins had acquired a "mystery investor" to finance their attempts to start a joke shop. Little did Ron know that the mystery investor was Harry himself. He had given the twins the thousand Galleons that he had won in the Tri-Wizard Tournament. Given the outcome of the Tournament, Harry couldn't bring himself to keep the money, and, with the dark days that he knew were ahead, he reckoned the wizarding world would be able to do with a few more laughs. 

The flow of the twins' enthusiastic banter, punctuated by an occasional addition from Ron and their younger sister, Ginny, was finally halted when their father Apparated into the kitchen with a POP. "What a day!" Arthur Weasley exclaimed, falling into his chair and looking exhausted. His wife kissed the top of his rapidly-balding head and placed in front of him the dinner plate that had, Harry knew from experience, been kept warm in the oven. He smiled his tired thanks and then seemed to focus in on Harry for the first time. "How are you, Harry?" he asked.

"Fine, thanks. Rough day?"

"You can't imagine. Everything's been crazy since the disappearances."

"Dad's basically been heading three different departments all at once," Ron supplied. "His own, of course, plus two of the ones whose heads are missing—Accidental Magical Reversal and Magical Catastrophes." There was a note of pride in Ron's voice that made Harry happy. Mr. Weasley didn't make much money working for the Ministry of Magic, and his department, Muggle Relations, wasn't a terribly prestigious one. It was nice to know that he was being trusted with more responsibility, even if it did mean more work.

"Those are huge departments," Mr. Weasley said, "so it's a lot of work. But it means that I get to be in touch with more people, so it's easier to … you know … spread the word."

Harry did know. Minister Fudge had refused to believe that Voldemort had returned, and Mr. Weasley was quietly gaining support for Professor Dumbledore from within the Ministry. His task of sounding out other Ministry workers was probably made easier with this excuse for contact with the other departments.

"Is their any word on the missing department heads?" Harry asked.

"My people are trying, but there's nothing so far. No one in the Ministry seemed to be doing anything, so, as unofficial Head of Magical Catastrophes, I declared the disappearances a Catastrophe, and I put half the department in charge of finding the missing people. So far, though, no trace. Fudge doesn't like that I have half my people on it, but, since he wouldn't put any other people on it, I reckoned somebody had to do something."

"Nobody else was willing to take over the Department, so old Fudge can't really do anything about it," Ron said. "He either has to leave Dad in charge and let him run things the way he wants to, or he'd have to take over the Department himself, and there's no way he's going to do that. He used to be Head of Magical Catastrophes, and he couldn't handle the stress then."

"Fudge _is_ a magical catastrophe," Harry muttered. Fred and George hooted, and even Mrs. Weasley looked like she was fighting a smile. "Well, he is. Sticking his head in the sand while his Department Heads go missing. It's ridiculous." Harry's opinion of Fudge had nose-dived at the end of the school year, and none of Fudge's actions since that time had done anything to improve it. 

The conversation probably would have turned to Fudge-bashing, but the tap of a beak on the window interrupted. "That's for me," Harry said, recognising Hedwig's snowy profile. He opened the window and let her in. "Hello, girl. Did you have a nice flight?" He untied the letter from her leg and ruffled her feathers. "Why don't you go find Errol and Hermes? I'm sure they'll be glad to see you." Hedwig flew off to find the Weasley family owls, and Harry sat back down at the table. The Weasleys were watching him curiously, obviously wondering who was writing to Harry. 

Harry hesitated briefly and then decided that he could tell them. He trusted everyone at this table. "It's from Sirius," he said. Ron looked like this was completely expected. Molly and Arthur looked a little wary, but not too concerned. Ginny, Fred, and George just looked perplexed. To the three confused Weasleys, Harry explained, "Sirius Black. He's my godfather. He's innocent."

The twins immediately began to talk at the same time. With Ron's help, Harry got them sorted out. Then he opened the letter to see what his godfather had to say.

Harry—

I'm fine and I'm safe, and Dumbledore's plans are moving along as well as we could hope for from my end. I've gotten in touch with a lot of people, and the word is spreading. I'm nearly finished with the project that I've been working on this summer, and then I'm hoping to have a little bit of free time—as "free" as an escaped convict's time can be, anyway. I hope to be able to see you soon.

Give my greetings to Ron and Hermione when you see them. Moony says "Hello!" to you all. I'd better sign off now and go feed Buckbeak; he's getting restless. Take care of yourself, Harry.

Sirius

Harry skimmed the letter and then read it aloud to the Weasleys. "Who's Moony?" Ginny asked.

"Professor Lupin," Harry replied. "It's a nickname from when they were at school." 

They talked a bit more about Sirius's letter until Hermione appeared in the fireplace a few minutes later. Mrs. Weasley welcome her effusively, apparently trying to make up for their misunderstanding of the last school year, and Harry and the other Weasleys all rose to greet her. Hermione kissed Harry on the cheek and then did the same to Ron. Ron's ears turned pink, and Harry grinned inwardly, wondering if Ron would ever cotton on. When Fred and George whistled and catcalled, Hermione kissed each of them on the cheek, too, which shut them up, albeit briefly. She hugged Ginny and Arthur, and everyone sat back down at the table. They filled Hermione in on Sirius's letter, and she told them about her summer. She had not, as it happened, gone to Bulgaria; travelling just now seemed too dangerous. She had spent the summer helping out in her parents' dentist office, which was dull, but they paid her well. "So you'll all get good Christmas presents this year," she said. 

"I already got a good birthday present," Harry said. "Kennilworthy Whisp's _Beating the Bludgers_. 

"A must-have for any home Quidditch library," Fred intoned, sounding like an advertisement. 

"And I have more presents for the two of you right now," Hermione continued. "I don't expect you to like them, but you need them, and I knew you wouldn't get them on your own, so I took care of it for you." She opened her school trunk and produced two identical packages wrapped in brightly-colored paper, and she handed them to Harry and Ron. "Sorry about the wrapping paper; it was left over from a baby gift."

Harry looked more closely at the paper and saw that it had rocking horses on it and said, "It's a Girl!" Ginny, looking at Ron's package over his shoulder, muttered something about whether Hermione should have wrapped herself in that paper for Ron's benefit. Harry watched the twins glance at one another in confusion; they hadn't been around for the fight in which Hermione had accused Ron of taking four years to notice that she was a girl. Harry was careful not to look at Hermione or Ginny as he opened his package; he knew that, if he made eye contact with either of them, he would burst out laughing. 

Once he had the package open, he did laugh; the present was completely typical of Hermione. It was a copy of _How To Survive the OWLs While Still Managing to Eat and Sleep at Least Five Days Out of Seven: A Study Course_. The OWLs (Ordinary Wizarding Levels) were exams that all Hogwarts students had to take at the end of their fifth year, and they were notoriously difficult. Leave it to Hermione to plan ahead. "Thanks, Hermione," Harry said. 

"Yeah," Ron added. "With you standing over us to make sure we use these, we might get a little studying done before, say, mid-May." 

"Mid-May?" Hermione repeated in disbelieving tones. "That book sets a twelve-month course; you're already three months behind."

"A whole year on the stupid OWLs? Are they barmy?" Ron wondered aloud.

Hermione drew herself up straighter, and Harry could feel a full-blown Ron-and-Hermione spat coming on. Hoping to head off the danger, he interrupted with, "I'm sure you'll catch us up in no time, Hermione. We can start tomorrow." When he saw Ron's shocked expression, he added, "In the afternoon, after Quidditch practise. We've got to get Ron ready for Keeper try-outs, right?"

"Right!" said the twins, in unison, and the tips of Ron's ears turned pink again. He and Harry had never discussed it, but Harry knew that Ron had to want theopen position on the Gryffindor team. Oliver Wood, the previous Keeper, had finished school at the end of Harry's third year, and there had been no Quidditch last year because of the Tri-Wizard Tournament, so the position was still up for grabs. Tall, lanky, long-limbed Ron was just the right build for Keeper, and Harry would love to have his best friend on the team with him.

"What about Quidditch Captain?" Harry asked. Oliver had been Captain as well as Keeper, so that position, as well, remained unfilled. "How does a new one get chosen?"

"Team vote," answered Fred. "And, prepare yourself now, Harry, because it'll probably be you."

"Me?" Harry hadn't been expecting that. "But I'm just a fifth-year," he protested.

George apparently agreed with his brother, for he immediately replied, "And the rest of us are seventh-years, which means we won't be around after this year. Have to take the long view when you're selecting a Captain, and you're the only current player who could do the job for more than one year. Continuity, and all that."

"Of course, we older, more experienced types will have to help you with the plays at first," Fred continued. 

"Not that any of us have ever actually developed a play in our lives …"

"That was Oliver's line—but it'll be a breeze. If Wood could do it …"

"… how hard can it really be?" The twins grinned identical grins at Harry as if the matter were settled.

Harry couldn't help grinning back, even though he wasn't convinced that he was the best choice for Captain. Best to humour the twins for now and discuss it further when the rest of the team was assembled. 

A disapproving voice at Harry's back turned the twins' grins to eye-rolls. "I can't believe you two are focussing on Quidditch. With NEWTs coming up, you really ought to be concentrating on your studies this year, not on games. And you really shouldn't be diverting Ron and Harry, either—they have OWLs to worry about." Percy Weasley, third-oldest of the Weasley children, had apparently arrived in time to catch part of the conversation. 

"Oh, good, you're home," his mother said, tactfully ignoring the substance of her son's remarks (with which, Harry knew, she privately agreed, but she had realised by now that there was little use in pushing the academics-versus-athletics debate with any of her Quidditch-mad offspring). She took another plate of food from the oven and set it in front of Percy.

"How's your department?" Mr. Weasley asked.

Percy, looking up from his plate, replied, "Chaos, as usual. No one is really in charge. Fudge refuses to appoint a new Department Head without concrete evidence of Mr. Crouch's death, and, since there isn't any such evidence, it's anyone's guess as to when we get a new Head. I've been trying to deal with the Head's correspondence, but much of it involves things that need decisions made—decisions that no one but a Head is authorised to make. So have to keep putting everyone off. And a good bit of the correspondence lately deals with rumours about Dark activity. The foreign Ministries want information, and I don't have any information to give." Percy raised his hands in a what-can-I-do gesture. "It's very frustrating."

Harry noticed that, for all his complaining, Percy seemed different somehow. Less self-important, maybe, and less pompous. Perhaps being an underling was improving his personality.

"Barty's Department is the one that gets all the foreign requests for information about You-Know-Who," Arthur said, clearly explaining for Harry's benefit. "I think that's part of why Fudge won't let me assume control of that Department as well as the other two: He's afraid I might tell them the truth." 

"Who is in charge of that Department?" Harry asked.

"No one," Percy and Arthur said in unison. Each looked at the other as if waiting to see which of them should continue. "It's your Department, Percy; you tell him."

"Althea Simmons from Mysteries was in charge, but, since she disappeared, no one has been put in to replace her. No one will take the job because of the disappearances. And, as Dad said, Fudge won't let him do it."

"Why don't you do it?" Harry asked.

"Fudge won't let me do it, either. He's afraid I'd pass on the same information that he thinks Dad would pass on." He added in undertone, "_As if _I don't know better than to go against Ministry policy." 

Molly stared at her son in shocked disapproval. "Do you mean to say that you wouldn't warn the other Ministries even if you had the chance?"

"Of course I wouldn't. I mean, since there's no evidence of any rise in Dark activity…."

The table exploded into talk as Hermione and the other Weasleys rushed to list instances of evidence. Only Harry and Percy said nothing. Their eyes locked across the table. "Do you think so little of me, Percy?" Harry asked quietly. 

Percy looked stunned. He opened his mouth and then closed it again as if rendered speechless. Finally, he managed to get out, "What do you mean?"

"You've been told, haven't you? About what happened that night when I watched Voldemort be reborn." He raised his sleeve and held out his arm to Percy. "You see this scar just inside my arm? That's where Voldemort's servant took my blood to use in the spell that brought him back." Harry stopped and took a breath; he was getting agitated, and he knew that a tone of blame would only make Percy defensive. When he continued, he spoke more gently, careful to keep his tone from becoming accusing. "You know me, Percy, and I give you my word. Isn't that evidence enough?" 

Percy waited for a long time, and Harry could feel everyone at the table holding a collective breath. Finally, Percy answered, "It's enough for me as your friend. I believe you. But it's not enough for me as a Ministry worker. I have to respect the chain of command. I can't work against the Minister." When Harry didn't look satisfied, Percy added, "I'm sorry."

Harry could feel the tension around the table. He knew that he could break it easily—just a shrug and an "It's okay, Percy; I understand" followed by a change of topic were all it would take. But it wasn't okay, and he couldn't quite bring himself to say that it was. Instead, he settled for the neutral, "It must be tough for you, being stuck in the middle. Rock and a hard place, and all that."

"Kind of like refereeing for Gryffindor and Slytherin," Fred interjected. Everyone laughed, even Percy, and talk shifted to happier subjects. After another round of hot chocolate, Mrs. Weasley shooed them all off to bed. Harry followed Ron up to Ron's bedroom, where an extra bed was ready for him. He snuggled under the bedclothes and drifted into relatively untroubled sleep.

*

The next morning, Ron pulled Harry, Hermione, and his siblings out for Quidditch training the second that breakfast was over. Hermione, less comfortable on a broomstick than the others, offered to provide the audience. Since they had nothing to use as a Snitch, they played without a Seeker, so Harry played Chaser with Ginny. Fred and George suggested that they play with only one Beater, insisting that their combined Beater prowess would be too much for "the little ones." They switched off between that position and Chaser. 

Once they settled the rules and positions, they settled down to play. Harry loved the feeling of being back on a broomstick, even if not in his usual position, and he held his own pretty well, although he was never able to score. Ron's Keeping skills were very promising. Although none of today's Chasers were as good as experienced House Chasers, Harry thought that, if Ron could do half as well guarding against the real Chasers as he could against his current opponents, the Keeper's job would be his without question. 

To Harry, the real surprise was Ginny. She was the only one who scored on Ron, and she handled the Quaffle beautifully. After the game, as they were all walking to the house for lunch, he encouraged her to try out.

"But there won't be any Chaser positions open," she said, blushing as she always did when Harry spoke to her but managing not to stammer, "and I'd never try against Ron for Keeper."

"But we need reserves badly," Harry replied. This was one of the very few areas that Oliver Wood had neglected. "We lose five players after this year—the twins and all three Chasers. We really need to work on training up some people this year to fill in those gaps. If we don't, next year's team is going to be pretty sad." 

"You see?" Fred said sounding pleased with himself. "He's already thinking like a Captain."

"Yes, he'll make a fine one," George agreed. "Never make a Chaser, though."

Harry just grinned and rolled his eyes. He still wasn't sold on this Captain idea. Fortunately, the arrival of lunch saved him from having to reply any further. 

As soon as they finished the meal, Hermione ushered Harry and a complaining Ron up to the relative peace of Ron's room for OWLs work. Ron quieted down a bit while they covered the first lesson ("Things You Learned So Long Ago That You Thought You Could Forget About Them By Now But That Will Surely Show Up On The Test—Part One") of the four that Hermione had planned for the afternoon, but, as soon as they finished it, he started again, hoping to wheedle his way out of further study for the day. 

Harry, taking pity on Ron, decided to step in. "Hermione, do you think we could maybe put the rest off until after supper? There's some stuff that I want to talk with you two about privately, and this seems like a good time." After extracting a promise that they _really would_ finish the other three lessons after supper, Hermione agreed. She and Ron focussed attentively on Harry, who suddenly felt a bit awkward. He wasn't really used to broaching important subjects, even with his friends. Usually, he waited for someone else to start heavy discussions, and he really wasn't sure how to begin. Should he tell them about his resolutions? Would they think him silly? Ah, well, he thought, in for a pence, in for a pound. 

"So," he began, "about this year. I've been thinking a lot this summer about, well, priorities." He hoped "priorities" didn't sound too stuffy. Since Ron didn't snicker, Harry guessed that it didn't. "With Voldemort back, some things that I haven't paid as much attention to are going to be more important now. Like keeping up with the newspaper. Like really focussing on schoolwork." Ron made a face at this, and Harry grinned, half amused and half exasperated. "No, really, Ron. We're not fully trained yet, and all the Death Eaters are. Tom Riddle was Head Boy in his day. Voldemort is evil, but he's not stupid. He's smart, and he's skilled. We—and by 'we' I mean the three of us, but I also mean all of our friends, all of the students that we know are on our side—need to work on our own skills if we want to have a chance of holding our own if we ever end up in a duel with someone from the other side. And that's going to mean paying more attention in class, keeping up with our studies, that sort of thing, and maybe practising some on our own. I'm not talking about studying for the sake of our marks or the OWLs; I'm talking about studying for the sake of, well, staying alive." Harry shrugged. "I know that sounds kind of melodramatic, but…."

"No. It doesn't," Hermione said. "Two years ago, it might have sounded melodramatic. Even six months ago. But now that Voldemort is back, it's not melodrama. It's the truth. Isn't it?" She glanced appealingly at Ron.

"Yeah. Reckon it is. And, as much as I don't want to turn into a swot, I reckon I'd better go along with the plan to study harder. So long as you promise I won't turn out like Percy." 

"No danger of that," Harry replied. He added darkly, "**You** wouldn't keep information from foreign Ministries." 

"No, not me. We've gone 'round and 'round about that this summer." Ron shrugged. "It's that rule-worship of his."

Harry shrugged, too. "Anyway, back to things to work on this year. I want us to ignore Malfoy. I mean, really ignore him—not pay any attention to anything he says. We got in the last word at the end of last year …"

"… In a big way," Ron interrupted, grinning. "Wonder if he'll still have the hex marks."

Harry couldn't help grinning back. "I hope so. At any rate, though, we got him, and he'll be doing all he can to get us into trouble. He'll go out of his way to say things that make us mad, and the best thing we can do is not respond. That'll annoy him more than anything else we could do."

"That means, Ron, that you'll have to ignore all of the awful things that he says about your family," Hermione said quietly. 

"I can't just let him trash my dad!" Ron exclaimed.

"Yes, you can. And I can let him call me a Mudblood every four seconds, and Harry can ignore every stupid crack about his fame. We can all do it if we just put our minds to it."

Harry found Hermione's determination heartening. They could do this; they could tune Malfoy out. "We need a plan. You know, for helping each other focus on something else we see that he's starting to get to one of us--something that we can talk about among ourselves to drown him out. We could talk about …" Harry trailed off, casting about for a good topic.

"Ferrets!" Ron suggested. "We could talk about ferrets."

"That's not ignoring him, Ron; that's baiting him," Hermione said. Ron muttered something about never getting to have any fun, but Hermione ignored him. "How about homework? We always have that to talk about."

"Really dull homework," Harry said. 

"History of Magic. Just thinking about Binns up there droning on should dull our brains so much that we won't be able to get mad about whatever Malfoy's saying." Now Ron was getting into the plan. 

"Sounds great." Harry felt much better now that he had his friends on board for his plans for the year. He knew that they would never leave him to do things alone (not even if he wanted them to), but it was nice to be reassured. "That's mainly what I wanted to talk about."

"There is one thing that Ron and I wanted to talk about with you," Hermione said, looking a little nervous. "It's about, well, safety."

"We don't want you going off by yourself, mate. Not anywhere. Not from the castle to the Quidditch pitch, or even from the Common Room to the library. We want you to take one of us with you wherever you go."

Harry thought about that for a bit. The independent part of him felt a little cranky about agreeing to this arrangement, but his more rational part knew that his friends were right to be worried about him. Finally, he said, "Okay. I promise. So long as you two will make the same promise. You're both in nearly as much danger as I am, so neither of you gets to run around alone, either."

Ron and Hermione glanced at one another and then nodded in agreement. Harry could see that they were relieved; they had probably expected him to argue.

"Good," Hermione said. She added briskly, "Now that we have that settled, I think there's time for another lesson before supper." Ron groaned and put his head in his hands. Harry, grinning, shook his head and opened his book. Unlike Ron, he knew when he was beaten. 


	5. Letters and Conversations

Disclaimer: It's all JKR's. 

Chapter Five—Letters and Conversations

Harry's first week at The Burrow passed quickly, and he woke one morning and realised that school would be starting in exactly one week. He wasn't sure how he felt about that fact; part of him couldn't wait to be back at Hogwarts, but another part of him really didn't want to leave The Burrow. The past week had been wonderful, and he had felt so safe here. 

He silently chastised himself for being foolish; Hogwarts was safer than The Burrow could ever be, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley would be safer after he, Harry, was gone from their house. "So quit brooding," he told himself. "You'll be perfectly safe."

He gave himself a little shake and put his worries away for now. Then he tossed his pillow at Ron's sleeping form.

"Whazza?" Ron muttered sleepily, not bothering to emerge from his flaming orange comforter. 

"Breakfast time," Harry said. When Ron didn't move, he added, "Food. Bacon. Eggs. Toast." He paused. Still no movement from Ron. "And, if you don't get a move on, Fred and George will eat it all."

Ron sat bolt-upright as if Harry had suddenly thrown cold water on him. He tossed aside his comforter and sprang out of bed. "What are we waiting for?" he asked, and he raced for the door. Harry followed close on his heels, marveling at Ron's ability to go from "totally unconscious" to "wide awake" in the blink of an eye. 

As the boys bolted down the stairs, they noticed a raucous din coming from the kitchen. Ron stopped short in the kitchen door, nearly causing Harry to run into him. Harry managed to stop, then peeked around Ron to see what was causing the commotion.

The kitchen looked like it had been converted into an owlry. Hedwig, Pig, Errol, Hermes, and no fewer than six Hogwarts owls fluttered about, vying for attention. Fred and George kept getting between the owls and the people to whom the owls were trying to deliver their letters. The twins thought this was hilarious; the owls didn't. When Pig saw Ron in the doorway, he gave a happy shriek and rocketed toward his owner. He flew straight into Ron's chest, bounced off, and hit the floor with a "floomp." 

"If he had the sense to run away, you could use him for Snitch practise," Ron muttered, picking up his slightly dazed pet. "Silly little git, this letter's not even for me. Hermione's the one who sent you to her parents, remember?" He carried the owl, who was still clutching a letter in his tiny talons, over to Hermione. 

Harry followed Ron into the kitchen, and the boys sat down at the table, ducking the owls. Mrs. Weasley, who had been outside gathering eggs, came into the kitchen. She quickly sized up the situation and ordered, in her steeliest tone, "Fred. George. Sit. Now." Grumbling, the twins sat, allowing the owls to make their deliveries, and everyone was immediately accosted by at least one owl. Hedwig hooted angrily as Harry took his school letter; apparently, she thought that he should have taken her letter first. "Sorry, girl," he apologised. "I was just saving the best for last." He fed her the rind of his bacon, which made her look somewhat mollified. "What?" he asked his Hogwarts owl. Instead of flying away, the bird seemed to be waiting for a reply. Fred's, George's, and Ginny's owls had left immediately, but Ron's and Hermione's seemed to be waiting, too. "Okay, okay, I'll read it," Harry said, opening his school letter. He couldn't imagine what might need a reply. It seemed like the standard school letter, though perhaps a bit thicker than usual. He flipped through the sheets. Welcome letter announcing the starting date, list of books and supplies—the usual. But there was an extra sheet. What was this? Harry read it curiously:

__

Dear Mr. Potter,

It is my pleasure to inform you that you are invited to be a Prefect this year. This is a very great honour and one which requires particular maturity and responsibility. Prefects are expected to set good examples for their fellow students. Please think carefully before you accept the position. We await your reply by return owl. Again, congratulations.

Yours sincerely, 

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

Prefect. He was invited to be a Prefect. Harry's head swam. Yes, it was a big honour, but it also required being in the spotlight a bit more than he liked. What should he do?

He looked up from his letter. Ron and Hermione were staring at their letters with slightly dazed expressions. In tandem, they looked up at Harry. None of the three said anything for a moment. Finally, Harry broke their silence. "They want me to be a Prefect."

"Me, too," said Ron, sounding flummoxed.

"And me," Hermione breathed.

There was a beat, and then the three of them burst into laughter. Fred and George groaned. "Oh, no! Another Prefect in the family. How can we show our faces?" George asked rhetorically.

"How can we stand the shame?" Fred replied

"The infamy!"

"The disgrace!"

"The-"

"Dears, that's wonderful!" Mrs. Weasley interrupted. She added, "Oh, Ron, I'm so proud of you." She grew misty-eyed. 

"Our ickle Ronnie-kins, all grown up," George said, feigning wistfulness.

"All grown up into a right little rule-monger," Fred added, equally pseudo-wistful. "Just like Perfect Prefect Perc-" 

"That's quite enough," Mrs. Weasley said. Fred immediately fell silent, but he and George exchanged unrepentant smirks.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione were still trying to get their collective fit of giggles under control; for some reason, the thought of being Prefects together seemed to them one of the funniest things they had heard in years. Harry took a deep, steadying breath; then he noticed the corners of Ron's mouth twitching, and they both promptly lost control again. 

Hermione was the first to regain her composure. "I suppose we should reply, then."

"Reckon so," Harry said, suddenly turning serious. "Should we do it, do you think?"

"Oh, you must! All of you! You wouldn't even consider turning down such an honour, would you?" Mrs. Weasley sounded absolutely scandalised.

"Not normally, no," Harry answered, "But right now … It might be dangerous. I mean …" He trailed off, not quite sure how to say what he meant.

Hermione was nodding gravely. "I know. Prefects get a lot of attention, and now might not be the best time for some of us to be drawing attention to ourselves. Harry's, well, Harry. So any extra attention is probably dangerous for him. And I'm Muggle-born; it might be hazardous to my health to have to hand out detentions to the Slytherins."

"And Dad's a well-known supporter of Dumbledore, so I guess there's a danger for me, too," Ron said. 

They all fell silent. Hermione was looking glum, and Harry felt a stab of sympathy mixed with anger. He knew how much the chance to be a Prefect meant to her, and it wasn't fair for that chance to be taken away by outside events. Surely they could do it. But should they?

Ginny's voice broke the pall that had fallen on the trio. "Look at it this way, though," she said. "If you don't do it, some other Gryffindors from your year will have to. Dean's Muggle-born. Seamus is a halfblood, and his mom sided with Dumbledore before. Neville …" She paused and shook her head. Harry had to agree with the head-shake; the idea of Neville as a Prefect was too absurd to contemplate.

Ron laughed. "No. Just no. And, really, Hermione, you're the only fifth-year girl with a brain at all. Can you honestly see Parvati restoring order in a crisis?"

"Restoring order to her hairdo, maybe," Hermione answered. Harry, Ron, Ginny, and the twins promptly burst into laughter. Hermione blushed. "Sorry, that wasn't very nice, was it?" 

"But true," Harry said. "I guess we'd better do it, then." He was still worried about the limelight, but it seemed that everything worried him these days. Best to try to have a normal life, to the extent that he could, rather than to let the worry take over.

"Good," Mrs. Weasley said. "I think you'll all be wonderful, and I'd hate to see you let things that might or might not happen interfere with your lives too much." 

"And I'd hate to miss the chance to razz you about being a Perfect Prefect," said Fred, lightening the mood. 

They all chuckled. Harry, Ron, and Hermione filled out the enclosed forms. They each checked the box that said, "I accept the invitation to become a Prefect," signed their names, and sent the school owls back with their replies. The rest of the meal passed uneventfully—at least, as uneventfully as a meal with the twins could be expected to pass—and the group dispersed. 

Harry, Ron, and Hermione headed up to Ron's room to work on their O.W.L.s revision. Ron had tried to argue that Quidditch practise should come right after breakfast "before the day gets too warm," but Hermione had countered with the claim that "your food needs time to settle" and had added that the heat would be good for them because "you need to get practise playing in less-than-ideal conditions." This logic had left Ron without a reply, so the two hours just after breakfast had become study time. Since students were not supposed to use magic during the summer, the trio had been forced to put some of the practical lessons off until they were back at school, but they were moving quite steadily through the theoretical lessons. Today, they were studying the effects that various ingredients had in different potions—armadillo bile, scarab beetles, and ginger root. Harry bit his lip when he saw the list. All of those ingredients had been in the potion that they had made on the day when Snape had been so awful to them in class. Harry snorted aloud.

"What?" Hermione asked.

"Just laughing at myself. I actually had the thought, 'All these ingredients were in the potion that we were making when Snape was so awful to us.' And then I realised how silly that was; it's not like 'the time when Snape was so awful to us' narrows things down at all." 

Hermione and Ron both laughed. "No, it doesn't narrow things down, does it," Ron agreed. Then he paused, looking thoughtful. "Wonder if he'll treat us any better now that …. well, with what's happening."

"Doubt it," Harry replied darkly. "I don't think he'll ever treat me any better, and you guys are my friends, so he probably won't ever be any less awful to you, either." He sighed and leaned back in his chair, staring out the window and trying to avoid the thoughts that kept sneaking into his head.

"S'matter, mate?" Ron said. When Harry didn't respond, he added, "No use getting worked up over Snape yet; we've still got a week before we have to look at his ugly mug."

Harry allowed himself a brief grin before he lapsed back into gravity. Still staring out the window, he answered, "It's not Snape. It's me. It's because of me that he's so awful to you two. It's because of me that you're both in extra danger from Voldemort. I didn't mean to, you know, get you into scrapes when I got to be friends with you." He shrugged. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…."

"Harry, you know it's not your fault." That might have been a question, but the way Hermione said it made it sound like a statement of fact.

Harry thought about that. Did he know that it wasn't his fault? He didn't want it to be his fault, and, in his more rational moments, he knew that it wasn't, but there was a little part of him that kept quietly insisting that if he were a little smarter, or a little nicer, or a little, well, just better, then things wouldn't be so bad. He shrugged again. Realising that Hermione and Ron expected more in the way of a reply, he said, "Most of the time I know it's not my fault. But it doesn't really even matter whose fault it is; the fact is, you guys are in danger because you're my friends."

Ron and Hermione exchanged worried glances. They didn't even try to disagree, for they knew that Harry was right; they both would have been safer if they weren't so close to him. Finally, Ron spoke. "Yeah, we are in more danger. But it's like we said at breakfast: We'd both be in danger anyway. It's not just because of you." He looked at Hermione as if willing her to step in.

"And, Harry, we're really happier being friends with you than we would be otherwise. I can't image what my time in the wizarding world would have been like without you. Without both of you," she added, glancing at Ron. 

Ron flushed, but he nodded in agreement. "She's right, mate. I mean, Dean and Seamus and Neville are nice guys and all, but…." He trailed off, turning redder. The only thing harder for Ron than accepting a compliment was giving one, so Harry knew that even this mild degree of "let's share our feelings" was hard for him. 

"You guys really don't … you know … hold it against me, then?" Harry asked. 

"No way!"

"Absolutely not!"

Harry grinned at his friends, suddenly feeling as if a great weight had been lifted. "Good. Sorry to be such a wet blanket; I've just been really worried. And then the Prefect letters came, and they made me realise how much being friends with me affects you two, and…" He paused. "Anyway, thanks for cheering me up."

"Speaking of cheering up," Hermione piped up, pointing to the O.W.L.s book, "Next is Cheering Potions."

"I didn't even know there were Cheering Potions," Ron said.

Harry snorted. "Of course you didn't. Do you think Snape would have taught us anything that might have made us happy?"

He and Ron cracked up. Hermione tried to look disapproving, but she couldn't keep her mouth from quirking at the corners. When Harry and Ron finished snickering, she said, "We haven't actually done these yet; they're in the fifth-year course. But they contain a lot of the ingredients that we've been looking at, so they're a good example to help us see how those ingredients work together."

Harry and Ron exchanged resigned looks. Hermione was in Lecture Mode, and there was no opposing Hermione in Lecture Mode. Grinning to himself, Harry picked up his quill, preparing to take notes until Professor Granger released him.

*

Eventually, Hermione did release the boys, and they collected Ginny and the twins and hurried out to the Quidditch pitch. The twins had decided that they needed to give Harry "a proper Seeker work-out," and they had been developing a new product to do just that. Weasley's Seeker's Scourge was truly diabolical. It looked like a Muggle firework, and it was activated much like one, too, by lighting the end of it. When lit, it flew about fifty feet into the air and exploded. But, instead of producing sparks when it exploded, it produced about twenty small, glittering, Snitch-shaped balls. They couldn't change direction or disappear like the Snitch could, but the explosion scattered them far enough that catching all twenty before they hit the ground would have been a hard task for a professional-level Seeker. The Seeker's Scourge was certainly more taxing than the golf balls that Oliver Wood had used when he was first training Harry. 

The twins' faces were wreathed in gleeful grins as they explained the Seeker's Scourge to Harry. "We have ten of them, mate, and we need to save a few to show to Mr. Zonko, but at least seven are for you to use today," Fred informed him.

"This is just a first prototype; we eventually want to make them reusable, so that the little Snitch-balls will re-collect themselves into the launcher. That way you can use the same one over and over," George added. "The reusable model will be more expensive, of course, but we're thinking we might have a market at schools and for professional leagues. We might have to put more balls into the ones made for the pros …"

"… But we won't know that until we see how you do with the first ones." Lapsing into his Percy imitation, Fred continued, "So hop on that Firebolt, young Potter, and let's see if you have the necessary skills for the task at hand." 

"The rest of us will just play like it's a match, and you stay out of the fray like in a regular match, and, when you least expect it, Fred or I will fire off one of these. Let's go!"

After half an hour spent chasing the little balls, Harry was exhausted. On the seventh and final Scourge, Harry managed to catch eighteen of the twenty balls. Though he'd like to have caught them all, he was still pretty pleased, especially since he'd barely caught ten on the first try. Once the Seeker's Scourges were gone, Harry played Chaser so that there would be another player for Ron to guard against. By the time Mrs. Weasley called them in for lunch, Harry was ready to fall off his broom. Feeling spent, but glad for the workout, he followed the others into the house.

*

The day continued much like the other days at the Burrow had—lunch, some more studying, a chess game with Ron, dinner, more Quidditch until it got too dark to play. Fred and George had made a few more Seeker's Scourges that afternoon, and, that evening, Harry finally managed to catch all twenty balls. Deciding to quit while he was ahead, he begged off the rest of the game, claiming that he needed to go over his school list to figure out what he needed to buy on tomorrow's trip to Diagon Alley. Ginny, Ron, and the twins continued their game, and Hermione stayed to watch, so Harry went into the house by himself. He made his way through the kitchen toward the stairs up to Ron's room, but voices in the living room caught his attention. It sounded like Mr. Weasley was home before dark, for once. Harry started to go in to say hello, but something in Mrs. Weasley's voice stopped him. He stood beside the doorway, just out of their line of sight, and listened, waiting to see if their conversation sounded like one that it would be okay to interrupt.

"Why wouldn't they take the positions?" Mr. Weasley was asking.

"Oh, they decided to take them, but they debated a bit before deciding. They thought that being Prefects might put them in more danger."

Mr. Weasley sighed. "They could hardly be in more danger," he said.

"I think that's basically what they decided. But, oh, Arthur, it was so awful to listen to them talking about it. They're just children! They're too young to have to think that way." 

"I know, dear. I know." They fell silent. Harry peeked around the doorframe to see what was happening. Mrs. Weasley had her head on her husband's shoulder, and his face was resting on top of her head. Harry thought of his own parents, wondering if they had ever had a chance to sit together like that, just holding one another, each taking quiet comfort from the other's presence. He hoped that they had. 

Swallowing the lump that had formed in his throat, he made his way quietly back down the hall and up the stairs. He felt like he needed to be alone for a little while. 

--

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Author's Note: Sorry for the delay on this chapter. I'm home, and my parents' computer is as slow as Christmas, which, considering the season, seems appropriate. Also, I apologise for any formatting weirdnesses; the conversion from my version of Microsoft Word to Mom and Dad's version is a little dodgy. The next chapter won't be ready until I get back to school (as it's on the school computer), so don't expect to see me until about the second week of January. Thanks to all my wonderful reviewers, and happy holidays to everyone!

TSS


	6. To Diagon Alley

Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters. The all belong to J. K. Rowling. But you knew that already.

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Author's Note: Thanks again to Yolanda for the beta and to the wonderful folks who have reviewed. For those of you who are totally sick of the Burrow and ready for Hogwarts, I promise, the next chapter begins the school year. Teaser for that chapter: If you're concerned about the plausibility of three Prefects from the same House in the same year, Chapter Seven will, I hope, lay those concerns to rest. For now, though, on to Chapter Six!

****

Chapter Six: To Diagon Alley

By the next morning, Harry had snapped out of his gloom and back into his usual state of worried-but-coping. He was anticipating the trip to Diagon Alley with a mixture of excitement, curiosity, and trepidation. Though he'd have been embarrassed to admit it, he found shopping for school supplies really fun. Also, he was very interested to see if the everyday routines of the wizarding world had changed at all or if, instead, everything was going along just as it normally did. He was a little apprehensive about being in so public a place, but he managed to shelve that concern.

Breakfast was not quite as lively as usual, as it was taking place an hour before it normally did; Mrs. Weasley wanted to get an early start on the shopping, for she was meeting a friend lunch and wanted to Floo back fairly soon afterward. The biggest event at breakfast was the arrival of three Hogwarts owls for Harry, Ron, and Hermione. They opened their letters to great curiosity from Ginny and the twins. It was unusual for Hogwarts letters to come to some, rather than all, of them.

"Prefect letters," Harry said, giving his a quick skim. 

"Top-secret," Ron added. "We have to memorise them and then eat them so that they can't fall into unauthorised hands." 

"You shouldn't have told them that, Ron," Harry said, playing along. "Now Hermione and I are duty-bound to kill you for giving away secrets."

"Honestly, you two are too ridiculous for words. Here, you can read mine." Hermione handed her letter to Ginny, who read it aloud:

Dear Miss Granger,

We are very pleased to receive your acceptance of the position of Hogwarts Prefect. Enclosed is your badge and a list your fellow Prefects. You are expected to wear the badge at all times that you are on duty, beginning when you board the Hogwarts Express. 

There will be a meeting of the Prefects in the front car of the Hogwarts Express. This car is reserved for Prefects ONLY. At this meeting, you will be told more about your duties.

Again, congratulations on becoming a Prefect. We trust that you will be a credit to the position.

Sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

Harry skimmed the list of names quickly. Then he read it again more closely, thinking that their had to be some mistake. There wasn't. A great balloon of happiness swelled in his chest. "You know whose name isn't on that list?" he asked, feeling his face split into a wide grin. When Ron and Hermione didn't answer, he informed them, "Malfoy. Slytherin Prefects for our year are Blaise Zabini, Queenie Greengrass, and Tracey Davis."

The table erupted into happy cheers. Malfoy was just as nasty to the Weasleys as he was to Harry, so news of his being passed over for any honour was music to their collective ears. 

Mrs. Weasley finally interrupted their gloating to tell them to hurry. "I want everyone down here and ready to Floo in ten minutes," she told them in her I-mean-business tone. "And don't forget your lists and your money."

The Weasley boys scattered to gather their lists and their money. Harry, Hermione, and Ginny, who had brought their lists and money when they came to breakfast, lingered over their tea while Mrs. Weasley bemoaned her sons' lack of foresight. "I wonder if those boys would think to bring their heads if they weren't attached," she grumbled, but she didn't actually sound angry. Harry knew that Mrs. Weasley enjoyed lamenting her children's failures, and he suspected that, if they were perfect and she had nothing to nag them about, she'd have been miserable.

The three Weasley boys arrived back in the kitchen, and Mrs. Weasley herded them toward the fireplace. Before they could start Flooing, Harry said, "One thing, before we go." All attention turned to him, and he continued, "If we run into Malfoy today, we're ignoring him, okay? No matter what he says, we're not responding to him. We're not speaking to him. We're pretending he doesn't exist." In response to the surprised looks from the twins, he added, "Hermione and Ron and I were talking about it. It's the way we've decided to deal with him at school this year to keep him from getting us into trouble. Will you all do it, too? We think it'll make him madder than anything else we could do." Ginny quickly agreed. The twins looked a little disappointed—Harry suspected that they'd been planning to try out some Weasley's Wizard Wheeze prototypes on Malfoy at the slightest provocation—but they assented as well. 

One by one, Harry, Hermione, and the Weasley children Flooed to the Leaky Cauldron. Mrs. Weasley Apparated a few moments later; Harry knew that she had put out the fire as soon as the last of her brood had left The Burrow. 

"All right. First stop, Gringotts," Mrs. Weasley said. "We'll need money." The group followed her out of The Leaky Cauldron to the lot behind it. She tapped the appropriate brick with her wand, and the entrance to Diagon Alley opened. They all walked through and strolled toward the impressive edifice of the wizarding bank.

No matter how many times he came to Diagon Alley, Harry was always amazed by it. The bustle, the noise, the sheer quantity of _things_ never failed to impress him. He examined his fellow shoppers carefully for any sign of change since the last time that he had come here. It seemed mostly the same; perhaps the people were a little more watchful, and perhaps the glances that, as one of the most famous people in the wizarding world, Harry never failed to attract were a little more suspicious—for which suspicion, he knew, he had Rita Skeeter and her poison-pen articles in the _Daily Prophet_ to thank—but, on the whole, not much had changed. Harry wasn't sure if he was glad about that or not.

One thing was different; it was raining. Harry had never been it Diagon Alley in the rain before. He hadn't even realised that it _did_ rain in Diagon Alley. That was silly, he knew; of course it had to rain, or the place would be a desert. Mrs. Weasley cast Umbrella Charms on them all—they could have cast them themselves, but, since they weren't supposed to use magic, so she insisted on doing it for them—and they arrived at Gringotts as dry as if it were a sunny day. A pair of goblins ushered them into the large entrance hall. There was a queue waiting for the goblin carts that took customers to the vaults. 

"We won't all fit in one cart," George observed.

"Well, I don't need to go," Hermione said. "I just need to go to the main desk and change some Muggle money." Ginny offered to go with her, and Mrs. Weasley sent Fred and George with the girls. She, Harry, and Ron took a spot in the queue. 

The line moved quickly—goblins were paragons of efficiency—and soon Harry, Ron, and Mrs. Weasley were rocketing along in the goblin cart. They went first to the Weasleys' vault. When he glanced in, Harry was thrilled to see that it had a fair amount of money, much more than it had contained the last time that he'd seen it. Ron's mouth dropped in surprise. 

"Mum?" he asked. "Where did all that money come from?"

"Well, your father would hardly be doing all that work without extra pay, now, would he?" She answered. "He's been getting three Department Head salaries, plus overtime. So no second-hand robes this year." 

Ron would probably never know it, but he wouldn't have had second-hand robes this year even without this sudden windfall. When Harry had given the twins his Tri-Wizard Tournament winnings, he had asked them to use part of it to buy Ron some new dress robes to replace the much-hated maroon ones that his mother had gotten for him the year before. Harry grinned to himself, thinking that the twins could use that portion of the money to make more Seeker's Scourges now that Mr. Weasley was starting to be paid (almost) what he worth. The Weasleys hadn't been destitute, but, with so many children still in school, they'd never had much extra money. It would be nice for Ron to have something other than hand-me-downs and things from the second-hand store, and it would probably be even nicer for his mother to be able to buy new things for him. 

Despite the sudden infusion of money into the Weasley vault, Harry was still a little embarrassed when they arrived at his own. His parents had left him a staggering amount of money, and one of the first big surprises he'd had upon entering the wizarding world was the discovery that he had sole possession of a small fortune. Unlike Draco Malfoy, who flaunted his wealth every chance he had, Harry had always lived quite modestly; his early deprivation at the Dursleys' hands hadn't really accustomed him to spending much money. He quickly filled his money pouch, and the goblin cart careened back up to the lobby.

"Now, we need to go to Madame Malkins, the apothecary's, the parchment store, and Flourish and Blotts," Mrs. Weasley said to the reconvened group as they left the bank. "We should save Flourish and Blotts for last so that we don't have to carry all those books around all day."

"I also need to go to Magical Menagerie," Ron said. "Need some owl treats for my stupid puffball."

"And I need to go to Quality Quidditch Supplies," said Fred. I'm running low on polish."

"And we need to check out the competition at Gambol and Japes," George finished, grinning wickedly. 

Mrs. Weasley made an impatient noise. "I am _not_ wasting my time in joke shops," she said firmly. "If you two have to indulge in such silliness, you can do it while I'm at lunch. Now, who needs pet supplies?" Harry, Ron, and Hermione raised their hands. Harry nearly laughed at how instinctive hand-raising was to students, even in the summertime. "And who wants to go to the Quidditch store?" All hands but Hermione's raised. Mrs. Weasley sighed. "Okay. Why don't I go get your Potions ingredients and your parchment and quills; I know none of you will be sad to miss a trip to the apothecary's or the parchment shop. Fred, since you actually have something to buy at the Quidditch store, you and George go ahead there. Harry, Ron, and Hermione, you go to Magical Menagerie, and then meet the twins at the Quidditch store. Ginny, you go with whichever group you prefer. I'll meet you at Madame Malkin's in half an hour." She turned and headed toward the apothecary's.

Harry stood, staring after her, feeling a little shell-shocked. Mrs. Weasley's organisational efficiency was a bit disorienting.

"You heard her, troops. Move out!" Fred barked. In his normal tone, he added, "Ginny, you coming with us or going with them?"

"I'd better go with them to make sure Ron gets the treats that Pigwidgeon likes," Ginny replied. Fred, George, and Ron rolled their eyes—none of them could understand Ginny's fondness for Ron's owl—and the two groups dispersed to their chosen locations.

At Magical Menagerie, Harry and Ron bought owl treats for their pets, and Hermione bought some catnip for Crookshanks. That business done, they hurried to join the twins at Quality Quidditch Supplies.

When they arrived there, Fred had already purchased his broomstick polish, and he and George were now checking out the new broom models. Harry noticed that the Firebolt was still the featured display item; even two years after its introduction, no other line had been able to produce a broomstick to rival it. The new Cleansweeps were nice, though—not Firebolts, of course, but snazzy nonetheless. Fred, George, Ron, and Ginny were quickly involved in a heated debate over the relative merits of different brooms. Harry stood a little apart, watching them and thinking. Hermione, noticing that he seemed quiet, asked if he were all right.

"I'm fine," he answered. "Just getting an idea. Not a very important idea, but …. Anyway, I'll tell you later; it's time to meet Mrs. Weasley." He and Hermione tore the Weasleys away, though their debate continued all the way to the robe shop.

Madame Malkin's was surprisingly quiet; Harry thought that they must have hit a slow period. The lack of other customers meant that Madame Malkin and her assistants were free to lavish their attention on Harry, Hermione, and the Weasleys. All six were soon equipped with new everyday robes—necessary because they had all grown over the summer. "Now, how about dress robes?" the proprietress asked.

"Yes, those were on the list," Mrs. Weasley said. 

"Mine from last year are fine," George said. "They were a little long, so they fit now." Fred added that his old ones were fine, too.

"No. You're all getting new ones," Mrs. Weasley said firmly. She didn't add that, now that they had enough money, her children were going to have the best robes whether they wanted them or not, but the point was clear, and none of her children bothered to argue. Not with her, anyway; instead, they argued with one another over the robes in which each would look best. Fred and George kept pointing out maroon fabrics to Ron, who hated maroon, and pink robes to Ginny, with whose hair pink robes would have clashed horribly. They also suggested some scandalously skimpy styles to Hermione, who, to Harry's surprise, giggled helplessly instead of fuming. Ron, his face purple, glared at his older brothers, who wisely decided to concentrate on their own robes for now. 

When the dust from the whirlwind that a shopping expedition with the Weasleys always was had settled, everyone had new robes. George's were navy and Fred's a deep plum, and they would have been surprisingly conservative if not for the gold fireworks that burst across them; according to the saleswitch, the fireworks would burst in time with music at parties. Hermione's were a coppery brown, bringing out highlights in her hair, and they were styled much like her blue ones last year; Harry thought they were very nice. After brief skirmishes with his mother ("Yes, Mum, I _know_ the brown ones match my eyes, but they make my freckles stand out.") and the twins ("'Silly?' You've got ruddy fireworks on yours; don't talk to me about 'silly.'), Ron had ended up with dark, forest-green robes with a small pattern that looked, at first glance, like copper-colored paisleys but that proved, on closer inspection, to be chess men. 

Ginny's new robes were silvery-grey and just a little iridescent. As he had waited and watched the alterations witch working at them, Harry had noticed that he liked the way the light caught them when she moved, and he'd reckoned they'd look really nice when she danced. Wondering where that thought had come from, had had quickly walked away to the desk to pay for his own new robes—robes by which he was simultaneously thrilled and disconcerted. Their dominant color was scarlet, and they were trimmed in gold braid and fringe, almost like a Muggle military uniform, and had a gold lion embroidered on the back. These were robes for a Gryffindor, and they made Harry feel ten feet tall and curse-proof. The Harry who had gazed back from the changing-room mirror looked bigger, stronger, more sure of himself. He wasn't quite sure what to think of that Harry, and he was distinctly unsettled by the way all conversation suddenly stopped when that Harry entered the room, but he had gotten the robes anyway, and the group had headed off to buy schoolbooks. 

Flourish and Blotts was terrifically crowded; Harry supposed that all the people who hadn't been in Madame Malkin's were here. Harry finished gathering all the books he needed, and he was about to join the check-out queue when Ron pulled him into an empty aisle. He looked worried, and Harry felt himself tense; when he heard what Ron was actually worrying about, he nearly laughed in relief.

"Hermione's birthday is in a few weeks."

Hiding his amusement, Harry said, "Yeah. So?"

"So, what are we getting her?" Ron sounded amazed at Harry's obtuseness. "We're right here in the bookstore; what better place to start looking?" 

Now Harry was really struggling not to grin. When he was sure he could keep the smile out of his voice, he said, "I don't think a book is the best idea this year. Not from you, anyway."

"What do you mean, not from me?" Ron replied, his voice dangerous.

"Well, she did seem to think it was rather, erm, important for you to realise that she's a girl. Books are kind of, well, not really girly." He shrugged and watched Ron's ears turn pink. 

"What do you get for a girl?" Ron looked utterly perplexed.

Harry shrugged again. "Ask Ginny. She's a girl; she should know."

"Well, what are you getting her?"

"A book." Harry showed Ron _Practical Magic: Everyday Magic for Muggle-Born Witches and Wizards_. "You know, she's always saying she feels kind of behind since she didn't grow up seeing magic done every day. Well, this tells about those everyday spells—cooking, and cleaning, and organising and things—that they don't teach at Hogwarts."

Ron looked even more perplexed. "But you just _said_ not to get her a book!"

Harry finally allowed himself the wicked grin that he had been holding in reserve. "I said for _you_ not to get her a book. She doesn't care if _I_ don't seem to notice she's a girl." 

Harry practically raced out of the aisle; he wanted to get back in the open before Ron figured out what he meant. He noticed Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan looking at this year's Divination textbooks, so he stopped to talk to them. They claimed to be having pretty good summers, though Harry noticed that both were a little more watchful than usual. Hermione joined them as soon as she spotted them. She was thrilled to see that Dean was buying _How To Survive the OWLs While Still Managing to Eat and Sleep at Least Five Days Out of Seven_. She examined their other purchases, noticed the Divination books, and was just getting started on her speech about how useless Professor Trelawney's class was when Seamus's formidable mother arrived to tell the boys to hurry up because she had found the _perfect_ dress robes for them both. Seamus and Dean resignedly followed her to check out, and Harry and Hermione went to look for the Weasleys. They quickly found Fred and George in the "Magical Jokes and Tricks" section. Harry and Hermione managed to drag them away, and they found Ron, Ginny, and Mrs. Weasley just in time to join them at the back of the checkoutqueue. The line moved very slowly, but they finally got to pay for their purchases. Mrs. Weasley was just in time for her lunch at the Leaky Cauldron; she instructed her young charges to meet her there in precisely one hour. 

"Where to now?" Harry asked.

They decided on lunch. The twins didn't want to go to the Leaky Cauldron—"We can't eat where Mum's eating; it would ruin our images!"—so they went to Florian Fortesceau's ice cream shop. Florian sold sandwiches now, in addition to ice cream, and, as he had an indoor dining area, he was doing a booming business with shoppers who wanted a break from the rain. Harry, Hermione, and the Weasleys couldn't find a table for six, so they settled for a table for four with two extra chairs squeezed in. They didn't have to stay so crowded for long, for Fred and George wolfed down their lunches as fast as they could in order to have more time at the joke shop. The other four ate more slowly and stayed for dessert; Harry had developed quite a taste for Florian's ice cream when he had stayed in Diagon Alley for a few weeks the summer before his third year. He was just telling Ginny about the way Florian at helped him with his History of Magic essay when a familiar, drawling voice interrupted.

"Well, well, if it isn't Scarhead and his fan club. And the fan club's bigger. What happened, Potter, did you decide you needed another pauper to follow you around?"

Harry felt the familiar rush of anger, but he forced himself to smother it. He was ignoring Malfoy. He was ignoring him. Willing his voice to stay steady, he continued, as though he hadn't even heard Malfoy, "He really knows a lot about History of Magic; it's kind of a hobby of his. And he gave me free sundaes every half-hour. He's a nice fellow."

"Bet you wish you'd been around for that, don't you, Weasel?" Malfoy said. "Something free; you'd have thought you were in heaven."

Ron's neck was starting to flush, but he was managing not to respond to Malfoy's taunts. Ginny, seeing that Ron was in no condition to keep up the conversation, hopped in with, "Wish I'd had him around when I was working on my History of Magic this summer; it was goblin rebellions _again_. I thought I'd scream if I had to read one more word about Ogden the Odious."

"Maybe you'd like goblins better if you ever had occasion to be around any—like, say, in a _bank_," Malfoy said. "That's where they keep _money_—not that you'd know."

"It's a shame, really," Hermione said, placing a restraining hand on Ron's arm. "There are so many _interesting_ things in the history of magic, and we never talk about any of those in class. It's all goblin rebellions and Warlock Conferences." 

"_I_ wish we could talk about Mudblood Purges; _that_ would be interesting." Malfoy paused dramatically, then pretended to correct himself. "Oh, wait; those aren't really history. It was only three years ago that Weasel-girl…."

Harry saw tears form in Ginny's eyes, though she quickly blinked them away, and he felt his temper rise. How dare Malfoy taunt Ginny about the Chamber of Secrets when his own filthy father was responsible for that? He touched her foot with his under the table in what he hoped was a comforting way. Time to end this little discussion, he decided; people were starting to stare. Cutting the son off in mid-sentence, he called across the room to the father, "Excuse me, Mr. Malfoy?"

Lucius Malfoy's eyes narrowed as they met Harry's, but Harry knew that he wouldn't dare to do anything to him in such a public place. His voice, when he answered, was full of an entirely phony civility. "Why, Mr. Potter. How lovely to see you."

"Thank you, sir. I'm sorry to have to trouble you, but I wonder if you might be able to require your son to make himself less of a nuisance." Harry paused to let those words sink in, and he heard a few snickers from the surrounding tables; people might pay some measure of respect to the Malfoys' wealth and prestige, but that didn't mean that anyone was sorry to see them get taken down a few pegs. Harry continued, "I'd hate to have to report him to the manager for disturbing other customers, but that's what I'll be forced to do if he can't allow my friends and me to eat in peace."

Both of the Malfoys had turned pink with anger. "Draco! Come with me at once!" The younger Malfoy shot Harry a look of pure hatred as he hastened to his father's side. "Mr. Potter.…" Harry knew by the expression on Lucius Malfoy's face that he was about to say something nasty, but he suddenly realised that every eye in the room was on him. Harry watched his quick internal struggle as his desire to get the last word fought with his desire not to let his veneer of respectability crack. Respectability won in the end, and he finished his sentence with a slightly strangled-sounding, "…I'm terribly sorry that he was disturbing you. I'll see that it doesn't happen again."

"Thank you, sir; I'd appreciate that." Harry nodded politely to Mr. Malfoy, who practically dragged his son from the restaurant. 

When the door closed behind them, the room, which had fallen silent during Harry's conversation, immediately buzzed with chatter. A proper-looking, elderly witch at the next table leaned over to Harry and said, "You handled that very well, dear. It's so nice to see young people who know how to use words instead of fists. So nice!" 

Harry blushed and thanked the witch, who turned back to her sundae. He saw Hermione shoot a repressive look at Ron, who was clearly fighting a snicker. "Something funny, Ron?" he asked.

"Old Lucius looked like he was about to choke, having to say something civil to you. You really did handle him just right…." His mouth quirked at the corners, and he added, "…dear," and then dissolved in laughter 

Hermione choked on her Pumpkin Juice Float, Ginny giggled, and even Harry had to chuckle. The four of them were still grinning when they left Florian's to meet Mrs. Weasley.


	7. Aboard the Hogwarts Express

Chapter Seven: Aboard the Hogwarts Express

The rest of the week after the Diagon Alley trip passed in a whirl of last-minute activity—furious Quidditch practises, frantic packing, marathon review sessions. And then it was time to go. By some miracle—Harry was sure that Professor Trelawney would have attributed it to a highly rare planetary alignment—on the morning of the start of term, Harry, Hermione, and the Weasleys all found themselves sitting in the kitchen, packed, dressed, and ready to go with time to spare. Mr. Weasley was taking them in his new car, which he had bought the week before, but which he hadn't managed to bring home yet. He claimed that he was "having some work done" on it before he brought it home; Harry suspected that he was actually keeping it somewhere where he could "do some work" on it himself—work like magically enlarging the interior and the trunk. 

Looking up from her cup of tea, Hermione suddenly asked, "Harry, the other day, in the Quidditch store, you said you were getting an idea. What was it?"

All the Weasleys focussed their attention on Harry, who felt himself flush. Maybe it was a stupid idea. But, since they all seemed to be waiting to hear, he replied, "I was just thinking about replacing the school brooms. It's not fair that the Slytherin team has these great broomsticks and everyone else either has to use junk or buy their own. It would, you know, level things out a bit if I …." He trailed off. It _was_ a stupid idea.

"Oi, Harry," said George, "That'd be great!"

"Awfully expensive, though," Hermione said.

Harry shrugged, turning redder still, and answered, "My mum and dad left me … well, really quite a bit of money. And it's not doing anybody any good just sitting there in Gringotts." Harry didn't add that, with the most evil wizard in history trying to kill him, he might not live to spend it later, so he might as well use some of it now, although that thought did cross his mind. "And this seems like a good way to use it."

"But there has to be a better way than replacing the school brooms; if you replace those, then the Slytherins will get to use the new ones," Fred said.

"I _could_ just get team brooms for Gryffindor, but I kind of want to get them for Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, too."

"Why?" Fred looked baffled, as though the thought of wanting to help out other House Quidditch teams was completely beyond his comprehension.

"Because I don't want those Slytherins winning _any_ games because their brooms are better."

"You know, Harry, if you bought brooms for every House team except Slytherin, they might start thinking you didn't like them." George said this quite innocently, but Harry could see him fighting a grin.

"So they might," Harry said, grinning back. "Anyway, it was just an idea."

"And a very sweet idea, Harry," Mrs. Weasley said. "You're so thoughtful, dear."

Harry blushed, and the Weasley boys all snickered. Their mother, choosing to ignore them, rose and gathered their teacups. "That sounds like a car," she said, looking out the window. "Oh, dear!"

Fred, George, and Ron raced to the window to see what had caused their mother to exclaim "Oh, dear!" All three burst into gales of laughter. "Oi, Harry, you have to come see this!" George said between guffaws. Harry joined the trio at the window and looked out. It was indeed a car. A van, actually—a late-model Volkswagen van.And it looked to be in very good condition. But it was … "rainbow-colored" was a bit of an understatement. "Explosion at the paint factory" was closer to accurate.

Harry grinned. Leave it to Mr. Weasley to find the most garish vehicle in all Britain. Hermione, who, along with Ginny, had joined the boys at the window, remarked, "Not exactly understated, is it?" 

Harry snickered along with the Weasleys, but he managed to compose himself before a beaming Arthur Weasley entered the kitchen. "Isn't it a beauty?" he said. "Drives like a dream, and plenty of room." He looked around the group, waiting for a reply.

"It's very, erm, colorful," Harry said. The others nodded in agreement. 

Mr. Weasley seemed to take this statement as gushing praise, for he beamed even more and started enumerating the car's wonderful features. Mrs. Weasley cut him off in mid-sentence, reminding him that it was time to go. Harry, Hermione, and the four Weasley children gathered their trunks and various pet cages and headed out to the lurid van. 

All the trunks fit behind the back seat with surprising ease, and Harry hid a grin. His guess about the nature of the work that Mr. Weasley was doing on the car was confirmed. Everyone piled into the van (where they had a suspicious amount of room left over), and they set off for King's Cross. 

After a few miles, Harry noticed that Ron had been awfully quiet. Hermione, Ginny, and the twins were carrying on a very lively conversation, but Ron hadn't said a word.

"Sickle for your thoughts?" Harry asked in an undertone.

Ron snorted quietly. "Where'd you hear that one? It's got whiskers on it, that does."

"From your dad," Harry replied. Ron grinned and rolled his eyes. "So, what do you think?" Harry asked. "About the broomstick thing. Should I do it? I mean, would people like it, or would they think I was being, you know, like Malfoy? Showing off. Flaunting the fact that I have … a little more money than a lot of students."

Ron looked uncomfortable, and Harry guessed that his oh-so-casual question had hit the mark. Ron was jealous. Well, not jealous, exactly, but not thrilled with the idea. "If it looks like showing off, I won't do it. I don't want people to think that I think money matters. Because it doesn't. It's easier to have it than not to, I guess, but having more doesn't make you better. Right?"

Ron's jaw was set dangerously, and he looked like he was about to snap at Harry, but then he sighed, and his shoulders relaxed. When he spoke, there was no anger in his tone. "I know. And I know it's stupid to be jealous. I'm not jealous of _you_. You know that, don't you? It's not about you." Harry nodded, and Ron continued, "I'm just … I dunno …"

"You don't wish that I had less," Harry supplied. "You just wish that you had a little more."

Ron nodded. "Is that bad? Does it make me a lousy friend?"

"No. It makes you normal. Most people wish they had a little more than what they've got."

"You don't," Ron said softly.

"Yeah, but I grew up sleeping in a cupboard and wearing Dudley's hand-me-downs. I never had anything of my own 'til I got to Hogwarts." He shrugged.

Ron nodded. "I forget sometimes, you know? I forget that you didn't grow up knowing that you were Famous Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived. It's weird to think about you being so … cut off … from everything." He sat for a moment, apparently lost in thought, and then gave himself a little shake. "Anyhow, mate, I think you should buy the broomsticks if that's what you want to do." He added, in a tone reminiscent of Hermione at her most lofty, "And anyone who doesn't like it doesn't have to ride one." 

Harry grinned. "That's just what I'll tell them," he said, in an equally lofty tone. He and Ron grinned at one another, and Harry felt worlds better. He was glad that he and Ron were finally able talk about these things. Ron used to get so touchy when money was mentioned at all that a serious conversation about it hadn't been possible. Ron would get touchy, and Harry would get bewildered and withdrawn, and things would sort of fester. But now they could talk about it. Harry supposed they must be growing up. 

Harry forced the grin from his face and said in his gravest tone, "There's something very important we have to discuss, Ron."

"What?" Ron looked terrified.

"What kind of brooms?" The boys looked at on another for a moment and then burst into laughter. 

Hermione tore her attention from her chat with Ginny and the twins to ask what could possibly be so funny, but Harry and Ron found themselves unequal to the task of explaining. Hermione rolled her eyes, muttered "Boys!" and returned to her conversation. And Harry and Ron spent the rest of the ride discussing the relative merits of the current broomstick models.

*

The ride to King's Cross passed uneventfully, and Harry, Hermione, and the Weasleys arrived with time to spare. Harry wasn't sure where they attracted more stares: outside the station, where Mr. Weasley's van was the most conspicuous vehicle on the street, or inside it, where the sight of an oversized luggage cart piled precariously with old-fashioned trunk and surrounded by a large family, with odd pets in tow, who kept muttering about Muggles, baffled passersby. Despite the stares, they arrived unscathed at the barrier between Platforms Nine and Ten. Two by two, they made their way through the barrier to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. 

The Platform was its usual flurry of activity. Owls flew about (Harry wondered why people didn't keep them caged; you just had to catch them again when the train came, and some—particularly the ones belonging to new first-years—were singularly uninterested in coming down from the rafters and back to their cages), students ran from group to group, finding old friends and yelling across the huge expanse of the terminal to people on the other side, parents hugged their children, mothers looked misty-eyed, fathers tried not to look misty-eyed, and, dominating the scene, the scarlet engine of the Hogwarts Express blew steam like some giant tea kettle. Mrs. Weasley cautioned her children to behave—looking particularly hard at the twins when she said this—implored Harry to be careful, and asked Hermione to try to keep "the boys" in line. "Although I know it's an impossible task, dear." Mr. Weasley simply beamed at them and told them to study hard, do their best, and have fun. Then both Weasleys hugged all of their brood extra-hard and sent them on their way with instructions to write often and to _stay out of trouble_. 

Once on the train, the group had to split; Harry, Ron, and Hermione had the Prefect's meeting to attend, so Fred, George, and Ginny were on their own. "Stick with the twins, okay, Gin?" Ron said in as off-hand a way as he could manage. "Just, you know, to be safe."

"Safe? With those two?" Ginny replied in a tone of mock disbelief. 

Pretending to be hurt, Fred and George led her away, enumerating all of the dangers that they would protect her from.

"Bad apples on the trolley, and Neville's toad running amok…"

"…and Slytherins, and soot, and spilled tea, and spiders—no, wait, that's Ron…." Their voices trailed away in the distance as they laid claim to a compartment and shut the door behind them. 

The other three shook their heads and grinned. "Reckon we should put these badges on," Harry remarked, pulling the silver P from his pocket and pinning it to his robe. Ron and Hermione did the same, Ron complaining all the while that he could _never_ wear "this thing" in front of the twins. The three then picked up their trunks and cages and strolled through the train toward the front car. On the way, they met up with several other new Prefects—Susan Bones, Hannah Abbot, and Justin Finch-Fletchley of Hufflepuff and Terry Boot, Kevin Entwhistle, and Padma Patil of Ravenclaw. Gryffindor and Hufflepuff had been in double Herbology lessons together in the past, so Harry knew those students fairly well, but the Ravenclaws were relative strangers; by some fluke of the schedule, the fifth-years in those two Houses had never had a class together. Aside from Ron's disastrous Yule Ball date with Padma, the Harry and his friends hadn't had many dealings with the Ravenclaws. The Hufflepuffs, who shared Potions lessons with the Ravenclaws, introduced the two groups, and they all talked amongst themselves as they made their way forward. Harry knew they had to be getting close to the front when a drawling voice stopped the group in their tracks.

"Poor ickle first-year, crying over his mummy. Need a handkerchief, baby Mudblood? Ooo, and what's this?" Sounds of a mild struggle ensued.

Harry rolled his eyes. Typical Malfoy. "Excuse me," Harry said to his fellow Prefects. He knocked at the door of the compartment from which the drawl was issuing and then walked in without waiting for an answer. Malfoy and Goyle were standing over a very small boy ("Were we ever that small?" Harry wondered) whose arms were being pinned behind his back by Crabbe. Malfoy was holding a piece of parchment in one hand and a kitten, held by the scruff of the neck, in the other. "Dear Mum," he started to read from the parchment.

"Is there a problem, gentlemen?" Harry inquired in his most official tone, putting a slightly sarcastic emphasis on the last word.

The three Slytherins whirled towards him, and Crabbe let go of the boy's arms. The boy took advantage of their inattention and snatched his letter. Then he demanded furiously, "Give me back Socks!" Harry was impressed; the boy was fast for such a little fellow, and spunky, too.

"What do _you_ want, Potter?" Malfoy said, ignoring the boy.

"I want you give that young man's kitten back to him and then take your goons and shove off," Harry replied mildly. 

"Who's going to make me?" Malfoy asked insolently.

Harry felt the familiar rush of anger. He managed, though, to take a mental step back and look at the situation calmly. "Whose going to make me?" was, he realised, pretty lame. Nothing worth fuming over. He grinned inwardly and rolled his eyes. "How original," he said dryly. "I hope no one will need to 'make' you once you bother to notice that there are nine Prefects witnessing your misbehaviour." Harry took a step forward into the compartment so that Malfoy and his bodyguards could see, just behind him, the small army of Prefect badges. 

Malfoy, looking murderous, shoved the black-and-white kitten at the boy. Then he jerked his head at the door for Crabbe and Goyle to follow him. As he walked past Harry, he made as if to put his hand on Harry's chest; his hand stopped in mid-gesture when he saw Harry's wand aiming at his heart. "Don't touch me, Malfoy," Harry said quietly, "And don't say a word. You're in enough trouble already." Malfoy hurried away, his goons in tow, throwing angry looks over his shoulder. Harry pocketed his wand and grinned; he was getting better at dealing with Malfoy. He turned to regard the boy. 

He was very small—short, skinny, and small-boned—with a mop of brown curls, hazel eyes, and a tear-stained face, none too clean. His tears seemed forgotten, though, for he was gazing at Harry with awe.

"That was cool!" he said fervently. "Thanks!"

"You're welcome," Harry said, keeping his voice gentle and calming since the boy had been upset earlier. "I'm Harry … Harry Potter. What's your name?"

"Matthew. Matthew Williamson."

"Nice to meet you, Matthew. What was the problem with those three?"

Tears welling up again, Matthew explained that he had been feeling homesick. "They found me in here writing to Mum. They teased me and pestered Socks." He added darkly, "I think they're mean." 

"They are," Harry assured him. "But don't worry; not everyone at Hogwarts is like that."

"I didn't mean to get homesick," Matthew said. "I'm really excited about learning magic and being a wizard and all that. I didn't even know there _were_ wizards until I got the letter. And it's been so much fun buying the stuff and reading the books and finding out. But I hadn't thought about the being away part. I've never been away from home before."

Harry looked out into the hallway in a silent plea for guidance. He wasn't very good at comforting. He caught Hermione's eye, and she patted Ron's shoulder. Ron looked startled. She gestured at Harry, then patted Ron's shoulder again. Oh! She wanted him to…. 

Harry patted Matthew on the shoulder. "There, there," he said. Where had that come from? He supposed that "there, there" went so naturally with pats on the shoulder that it had come automatically. "You're, erm, you won't be the only person who hasn't been away before. I had never been away when I came to Hogwarts. You'll be just fine." Harry cast about briefly, but he was out of encouragement. Then, a brilliant thought struck him. "Does your kitten like other animals?" Matthew nodded. "Well, all of us are on the way to a Prefects' meeting, and we need someone to watch our pets. Could you do that for us?"

Matthew looked like Christmas had come early. "Yeah! And I can watch your trunks, too! I'll take really good care of them."

Harry glanced out into the hall, where the other Prefects were regarding him with a mixture of amusement and admiration. He gestured for them to bring in their trunks and cages. They did, and they all shook Matthew's hand and thanked him for keeping an eye on their things. The boy's chest swelled with pride, and Harry grinned. "See you later, Matthew," he said, and he and the other Prefects hurried on toward the next car, not wanting to be late.

"Nice job with that kid, Potter," Justin said as they walked along. "I have scads of little cousins, and that's just how you have to handle them: If you don't know what to say, distract them."

"Hang on," Harry said with mock sternness. "You have little cousins. That means you've actually talked to a child before. But you left me—me, who has never spoken to anyone that small since I _was_ that small—_all_ on my own in there."

Justin grinned unashamedly. "Thought you needed to learn," he said. Harry and the others laughed. 

Moments later, the group arrived at the front car. Just as they stepped into it, the train began to move; they were on their way.

Most of the other Prefects had already arrived, so the car was pretty full—full and noisy. Instead of compartments, this car was open, arranged rather like a long, narrow classroom with red plush train seats instead of desks and chairs. There was a podium at the front and two seats behind it, facing the others; Harry reckoned that those were for the Head Boy and Girl. Most people weren't sitting in the seats yet, though; instead, they were milling about the edges of the car and chatting with their friends. Bidding Harry, Ron, and Hermione goodbye, the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw fifth-years dispersed to talk with their older counterparts. The Gryffindors simply stood for a bit, taking in the scene.

"Harry, who's that?" Ron asked, indicating a burly boy in the corner.

"Slytherin. Sixth year. I think his name's Bode."

"He wasn't a Prefect last year," Hermione said. "The Slytherin fifth-year Prefects were Samantha MacNair and Cassius Flint." 

Harry looked around for the students that Hermione had mentioned. "I don't see either of them."

"They got sacked," came a voice from behind them. They turned to see Angelina Johnson, seventh-year Chaser and Gryffindor Prefect. 

"I didn't know Prefects could get sacked," Ron said. Harry nodded. He hadn't known that, either. He had never heard of it happening before.

"Well, they did. And so did Tobias Rosenfeld. Cavendish McBane and Caxton Sanders are taking over as seventh-year boys' Prefects for Slytherin." Seeing the inquiring looks on the trio's faces, Angelina looked around to make sure that no one else was listening and added quietly, "Rumour is that Dumbledore himself insisted on their removals."

"Why?" Hermione asked.

"What did they do?" Ron sounded extremely eager to hear, and Harry grinned. There were few things that Ron enjoyed more than hearing dirt on the Slytherins.

"Nothing unusual, so far as anyone knows. Maybe we'll find out here. If anybody here knows, it'll be Charles and Sylvia. They're Head Boy and Girl this year, and they'll run the meeting." Angelina indicated a dark-haired boy of medium build and a tall girl with brown curls and a mischievous expression. 

Harry grinned at the girl, wondering how Sylvia Fawcett had managed to be named Head Girl in spite of her behavioural record. She wasn't in the twins' league as a troublemaker, but she'd lost her share of House points over the years. Ravenclaws had a reputation for scholarship, though, so her marks were probably very good, and she was well-liked and well-respected by the other students.

Harry's grin died on his face when he met the eyes of Charles Stebbins, a Hufflepuff. He got an odd feeling in the pit of his stomach—a feeling like he had just gone down a step that he didn't know was there and was unexpectedly caught in mid-air for a split-second. It should have been Cedric. Harry knew that Stebbins was feeling Cedric's absence, too, for he gave asmall grimace and a half-shrug as if apologising to Harry for being there, for being in the place that was not rightfully his. Harry returned the gesture, and Stebbins nodded gratefully and turned away quickly. Harry swallowed hard and turned to look out the window.

"You okay, Potter?" Angelina asked. 

Her tone was offhand, but Harry saw the not-quite-hidden concern on her face. He appreciated that concern, but he wasn't up to dealing with it at the moment. "Yeah," he replied. "I'm fine." 

Angelina clapped him roughly on the shoulder and made her way on down the length of the car. Harry grinned ruefully. "Is _everybody_ going to be worrying about me this year?" 

"Probably," Hermione answered.

"Great." All he wanted was to blend in, to be anonymous, to be left alone to have a normal life. Harry felt himself slipping toward self-pity, and he gave himself a mental shake. _A normal life isn't going to happen any time soon, and you'd better get used to it_, he told himself sharply. 

"All right, then, everyone pay attention!" Sylvia Fawcett's hearty voice boomed over the babble of talk, and all of the conversations in the car immediately ceased. In a slightly quieter but still very commanding voice, she continued, "Take a seat, folks; time to start the meeting." 

The Prefects hurried to take seats; Sylvia gave them a bit of time to get settled, then began the meeting in earnest. She introduced herself and Charles and then had the Prefects introduce themselves with their names, years, and Houses. When introductions were done, she said, "You'll probably have noticed by now that there are more new Prefects than usual, and you're probably wondering why. Charles is going to tell you about that." She stepped away from the podium and took one of the seats behind it, and Charles took the floor.

Charles's style was much more formal than Sylvia's had been, and Harry could tell that the formality was the Head Boy's tool for masking his nervousness. "With the rebirth of You-Know-Who, safety is now a more serious priority than it has been for the past few years. In the past, Prefects were mostly there as rule enforcers. Now that You-Know-Who is back, we're expected to be, not just rule enforcers, but watchers. We're supposed to keep an eye on our fellow students, particularly the younger ones, and especially ones who, for whatever reason, are likely to be targets of Dark forces—Muggle-borns, or ones whose parents are known for working against You-Know-Who during his last reign. That job requires extra people—and extra people who have been chosen with particular care. Some of last year's Prefects were determined to be unfit for the new role, and they have been replaced. Each House now has three Prefects from each year of the top three years instead of just two, and all of those people were hand-picked by Professor Dumbledore. Everyone in this room has the Headmaster's trust, and he hopes—and I hope with him—that we will all take his trust as a sign that we can trust one another. Prefect meetings are no place for suspicions or House prejudices. You are all good people, and I look forward to working with you this year."

Charles sat back down, his hands trembling slightly. Harry was impressed; that speech had to have been a difficult one to make, and Charles had pulled it off beautifully, managing to sound firm and serious without sounding pompous or lecturey. 

Sylvia took the podium again. "Now that Charles has done the hard part, I get to tell you more about the role of the Prefect—what our jobs are, what we're expected to do, what we're not expected to do. What we aren't expected to do is handle everything by ourselves. We have one another, and we have the teachers, and that means that no Prefect ever has to handle an uncomfortable situation on his or her own. Asking for help from your fellow Prefects or from the teachers is not a sign of weakness; it's a sign of maturity." Was it Harry's imagination, or did Sylvia look particularly meaningfully at the Slytherins when she said this? He couldn't tell. "We also aren't expected to be whip-cracking, rule-book-quoting heavies. If a student is two minutes late for curfew, be reasonable. Pick your battles." Ron was shooting Hermione very significant looks, and Harry smothered a chuckle. "On the other hand, there are some rules that we do have to take very seriously." Sylvia continued in this vein for a while, carefully covering the Prefect's duties. By the end of her presentation, they knew the expected response to nearly every kind of infraction, from rude talk to dueling in the hallways to being found in unauthorised areas. They knew when to take House points on the spot, when to talk to a teacher, and when to let things go. It was quite informative, and Harry wondered for a moment why only Prefects ever heard these things. Knowing the usual penalty for, say, wandering the corridors at night for no good reason would have come in handy for him many times. He decided that these penalties weren't common knowledge for the same reason that there was no published list of Quidditch fouls: you might give people ideas. Harry, for instance, had never considered bewitching a classroom so that the members of the next class all came out smelling like … at any rate, it wasn't the sort of thing that you'd want mentioned on a list of rules to be made available to everyone. 

"So that's what Prefects do," Sylvia finished. "Any questions?" There were a few, which Sylvia and Charles handled deftly. "All right, then. I'll pass out copies of class schedules for this year just so you can see where students in your House are supposed to be at various times, and that should be the end of official business. Once you get a copy of the schedule, you're free to go visit your other friends if you want, but I hope you'll all stick around here for a little while and get to know your fellow Prefects. This is probably the only time that we'll all get to meet together. Once we get to school, you'll sometimes meet with the other Prefects in your year and sometimes with the other Prefects in your House, but we probably won't ever get the chance to meet as a large group; some of us will always have to be on duty. So, yeah, take this chance to talk among yourselves; it may be a while before you get it again." With that, Sylvia closed the meeting. The room was soon filled again with the buzz of many conversations. 

Harry listened to Ron and Hermione spar as they waited for copies of the schedule. Ron was baiting Hermione about Sylvia's admonishment that Prefects needn't be heavies, and Hermione was giving him her "oh, honestly, Ron!" look. Harry was content to leave them to it. He interrupted only to draw their attention to the schedule.

"Look, we actually have a class with Ravenclaw this year—Care of Magical Creatures," he said.

Momentarily distracted from their dispute, Ron and Hermione checked their copies of the schedule to verify. "Yes!" said Ron. "Aw, hell, still with Slytherin in Potions. Bloody unfair, that is."

"Language, Ron," Hermione reminded. "Prefects have to …"

"…set a good example," Harry and Ron chorused along with her. Hermione tried to look offended, but she couldn't keep it up, and soon the three were laughing together.

Ron suddenly stopped laughing, looking watchful. "Slytherins at two o'clock," he muttered, jerking his head forward and to the right. Sure enough, the three fifth-year Slytherin Prefects were heading their way. They stopped to confer briefly, and only Blaise Zabini continued on toward Harry and his friends; the two girls walked off toward a different group of students. Blaise stopped in front of Harry, looking a little nervous.

"Could I have a word, please, Potter? Alone?" Turning his attention to Ron and Hermione, he added, "No offense, you two; it's just sort of private."

Harry, Ron, and Hermione had a brief non-verbal conversation in which Harry, through the facial equivalent of a shrug, indicated that he wanted to go and Ron and Hermione, through raised eyebrows and knowing looks, indicated varying degrees of scepticism but agreed that he should hear Zabini out. Harry stood and walked with Blaise to a quiet corner of the car that was well within Ron and Hermione's line of sight. "What's up?" he asked.

Zabini swallowed hard and seemed to be screwing up his courage. Finally, he spoke. "I just wanted to … to apologise. For last year." When Harry looked a little confused, he clarified, "The Tri-wizard Tournament. Those stupid 'Potter Stinks' badges. They were Malfoy's idea, of course, and he made them, but I shouldn't have worn one, and I'm sorry. Queenie and Tracey are sorry, too, but they thought the apology might be better coming from just one of us. We didn't want you to feel like…." Blaise trailed off, not quite able to find the words. 

"… Like I was being ganged up on?" Harry supplied.

Blaise smiled ruefully. "Well, our House is sort of known for it. Ganging up on people, I mean. Anyway, sorry about the badges and all."

"It's forgotten," Harry said. And he meant it. It was nice of Blaise to bother to apologise. Harry had never really thought of any of the Slytherins as individuals; they were always just "the Slytherins," mentally grouped in with Malfoy and his goons. Perhaps it was time to stop thinking of them that way. 

"Thanks. And, listen, Potter, I just want you to know … I can never really act like your friend. I can't strike up a chat with you between classes, or look sympathetic when Snape says something nasty, or tell Malfoy to shut his trap when he's being a git to you. I can't do that; there are a lot of people in my House who don't like you, and taking them on over you would make it harder for me to do my job as a Prefect in the House. But I want you to know that I see how unfair and nasty some of my Housemates are to you, and I don't agree them, and, in whatever very quiet way I can, I'll try to keep that attitude from spreading. And, if it's ever something important—if it's ever something to do with You-Know-Who—I'm on your side. Just so you know."

Harry couldn't speak; Blaise's speech had disarmed him completely. Finally, he offered his hand, and Zabini shook it firmly. When he had regained the use of his voice, Harry said, "Thank you. Really, thanks a lot. I really appreciate … everything."

Blaise nodded and took his leave, and Harry returned to his friends. "What was that about?" Ron asked. He and Hermione were as dumbstruck as Harry had been when he related the conversation. "Wow," Ron said.

"Yeah. That's pretty much what I said," Harry agreed. 

"Well, it looks like Dumbledore picked the right Prefects," Hermione said. The boys concurred. "Should we go and say hello to the other Slytherins?" she suggested. 

Harry and Ron looked at one another uncertainly, and Harry reminded himself of Sylvia's exhortation to build trust among the Prefects. Laying his doubts aside, he said, "Yeah. Let's," and the trio made their way across the car. 

The Slytherin Prefects were standing a little apart from everyone else, not mingling with the group. They all looked very surprised and several looked more than a little suspicious at being approached by a pride of Gyffindors. Harry, Ron, and Hermione all introduced themselves, and the Slytherins replied by supplying their own names. There was a moment's pause, finally broken by Cavendish McBane. "Weasley. I have Potions class with your twin brothers."

Ron's reply, a heartfelt, "I'm _so_ sorry," caused a ripple of laughter through the group, and that broke the ice. The group chatted about classes and Quidditch, moaned about O.W.L.s, N.E.W.T.s, and their summer homework, and talked about what they'd done during the holiday. Harry was surprised at how, well, _normal_ Slytherins could be when they were away from pernicious influences like Malfoy and Snape. 

When the conversation lulled a bit, Harry said, "We should probably say a quick hello to the other folks and then get going. We left a first-year guarding our luggage and our pets, and I reckon we'd better make sure he hasn't done any damage." The Slytherins chuckled, and the three Gryffindors took their leave. They stopped to say a brief word to a group of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw sixth- and seventh-years who were commiserating about the summer Potions assignment, waved good-bye across the room to their fellow Gryffindors, and left the Prefect's car to check on Matthew. 

Matthew's compartment was rather more full than it had been when they'd left, for he had been joined by three other boys. Harry noted that they were all notably bigger than Matthew, confirming that the boy was indeed as small as he'd looked. The four children broke off their animated conversation to look at the new faces. "He's the one!" Matthew said excitedly, pointing at Harry "The one I told you about who made the bullies go away. Will you stay and talk to us, Harry?"

Harry looked at Ron and Hermione, who both nodded, and the three fifth-years joined the boys in the seats. It was a tight squeeze with the extra trunks, but they managed. They all introduced themselves. Titus Pipps, one of the boys who was born of a magical family, eyed Harry thoughtfully. Finally, he burst out, "That newspaper person said you were funny in the head. But Matthew here says you're really nice, and not funny in the head at all."

Hermione looked all set to start a tirade, but Ron broke in, "That newspaper person said a whole lot of things that weren't true. But she's not allowed to write for a while now, so she won't be able to tell any more lies about people."

"So you're not funny in the head?" Titus sounded almost disappointed.

"No more than anyone else, I reckon," Harry answered. 

"Definitely not as much as Dumbledore," Ron said, smoothly changing the subject. "He's brilliant, but he's barking." The boys clamoured to know more, and Harry, Ron, and Hermione spent the rest of the train ride regaling them with tales of Hogwarts and its inhabitants. The boys only let them take a break when the tea trolley arrived and when the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw fifth-years stopped in to collect their pets (leaving their trunks, which were always delivered to the castle by some sort of magical means). The Gryffindor trio were hoarse from talking when the train finally puffed into Hogsmeade station.

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Author's Notes: Thanks again to Yolanda for the beta, and thanks to all my wonderful reviewers! 

This chapter was kind of transition-y; my apologies if it's a little slow. The action level pick up a bit in the next few. 

Oh, about Mr. Weasley's car … Yolanda pointed out that it sounds a bit like Scooby Doo's Mystery Machine. I have in mind much less of a pattern for the Weasley van paint job. Think more Jackson Pollack-style drips than tie-dyed swirls, and much_ less of an identifiable color scheme. ;-)_

Finally, a shameless plug: If you're reading Arabella and Zsenya's wonderful "After the End" (and, if you aren't, you should be), go check out "The Contract," my short companion piece to Chapter 31, over at The Sugar Quill (http://www.sugarquill.net/read.php?storyid=1192&chapno=1_). _

TSS


	8. Long Day's Journey into Longer Night

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Disclaimer: All the characters you recognize belong to JKR. The new folks are mine, I guess, but I'd be happy to hand over any that she wants. Kirpal Singh's name belongs to the sapper in Michael Ondaatje's wonderful novel The English Patient, but the character is original. Josiah Carberry's name belongs to my undergraduate university's imaginary friend [long story ;-) ], but his character is original, too. You might recognize some of the other first-year students' surnames from canon; a handful of this year's students have relatives who have been mentioned once or twice. Those surnames are all Rowling's.

Chapter Eight: Long Day's Journey into (Longer) Night

Harry, Ron, and Hermione sent the four boys off to the boats with the rest of the first-years. On their way to the horseless carriages, they met Ginny, the twins, and several of the twins' friends; Ginny was visibly relieved to be rescued from the boisterous bunch when Hermione asked if she wanted to ride with the three of them.

"Thanks, you three," she said as they settled into their carriage. "I love Fred and George, but I was going to strangle them if I had to stay with them much longer. How was the Prefect meeting?"

The fifth-years filled her in on the relevant details of the meeting. Just as they were finishing, the carriages arrived, and they clambered out. Hogwarts Castle stood just as beautiful and imposing as it had been when they left for the summer. After the requisite moment of admiration—a moment that most students took upon returning, even after several years at Hogwarts—the four of them headed inside to the Great Hall.

As they walked to the Gryffindor table over at the far side of the Hall, they admired the usual start-of-term decorations—golden plates and goblets, hundreds of floating candles, gleaming House banners. No matter how many times Harry entered the Hall for a feast, the sight never failed to make him catch his breath. 

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny took seats in the middle of the Gryffindor table. Harry had instinctively led them to a spot where he could sit with his back to the wall and watch the door; the others didn't comment on this fact, but Harry wasn't sure if that was because they didn't notice or because they just didn't want to make him uncomfortable by mentioning it. In either case, they continued as normal. They bid hello to Nearly-Headless Nick (who seemed to have missed them over the summer; Harry was oddly touched) and then joined a conversation with their classmates. Dean had spent the last few weeks of the break with Seamus, and he kept everyone in stitches with his imitations of the redoubtable Mrs. Finnigan and her cowed-but-doting husband. Harry's laughter was interrupted by an excited, piping voice.

"Hiya, Harry! How was your summer? What did you do? Wow! Harry, are you a Prefect, Harry? That's brilliant!" Colin Creevey, Hogwarts fourth-year and charter member of the Harry Potter Fan Club, turned away to call down the table to his younger brother Dennis, a second-year, "Dennis, guess what, Dennis! Harry's a Prefect!" 

"Cool!" Dennis called back. He raced up the table to join Colin, and the two turned the combined force of their chatter on Harry. 

"Harry, guess what we did this summer, Harry. You'll never guess! Tell him, Dennis."

"Natalie set it up for us to go visit her uncle for a day to see how a magical farm runs, and we got to ride a hippogriff!"

"It was brilliant, Harry. Have you ever ridden a hippogriff, Harry?"

"Erm, once or twice," Harry said blandly, winking across the table at Hermione and feeling Ron stiffening beside him with suppressed laughter. "Once or twice" wasn't the half of it; Harry and Hermione had ridden a condemned hippogriff named Buckbeak when they had rescued Sirius at the end of their third year, and Sirius and Buckbeak had been on the lam together ever since. 

"Wow! I bet you stayed on, didn't you, Harry? I stayed on for a little bit, but then I fell off. I landed in this big pile of straw. It was brilliant! Dennis didn't fall off, though; he stayed on the whole time, didn't you, Dennis?" Dennis nodded so enthusiastically that Harry was afraid his head might separate from his tiny body.

Harry tuned the Creeveys out, careful to nod and say "Uh-huh" at regular intervals, and turned his attention to the Head Table. Only one empty chair, he noted, and that was McGonagall's. Everyone else was here. Hagrid was back safely, thank Merlin, from whatever dangerous mission he'd been on for Dumbledore. Snape was back, too, and Harry supposed he ought to be glad; the Potions master was a nasty git, but he was an important ally in the fight against Voldemort, so having him back in one piece probably beat the alternative. 

Colin and Dennis were just starting to quiz Harry about Quidditch when McGonagall entered with the first-years, causing silence in the Hall and saving Harry from having to answer. The first-years looked terrified, and Harry remembered the queasy feeling in his own stomach four years ago. He'd been so young then—not just in years, but in experience. He had seen things and done things in those four years that no fifteen-year-old should have had to see or do. Harry felt a sudden pang of protectiveness for the scared children waiting to be Sorted. He promised himself that he'd do what he could to see that they never had to face the darknesses that he had faced himself. 

McGonagall brought the Sorting Hat forward, just as she did every year, and placed it on its three-legged stool. The tear just above its brim opened, and it began to sing in its creaky but strangely compelling voice:

"When Hogwarts school was first begun

So many years ago,

The Sorting was conducted by 

Four folks whom you should know.

Brave Gryffindor loved courage and

A sense of right and wrong.

Kind Hufflepuff chose loyalty

And love of labour long.

Wise Ravenclaw prized scholarship

And love of books and lore.

Shrewd Slytherin liked cunning folks

Who always strive for more.

And now tonight we must find out 

Which House is right for you.

This task is one that falls to me;

It's what I'm made to do.

I'll read your mind and all your thoughts

And from these, I'll decide

The House in which, for seven years,

You'll happily reside.

So put me on, and have no fear,

For though the Hat sees all,

I'll never tell your secrets

Whether they be great or small.

Don't worry, fret, or panic;

You need not feel any dread.

I'll put you just where you belong.

It's all there in your head!"

The tear above the brim closed again, and the students all applauded. "You reckon the four Founders sang a silly rhyming song every year back in the day?" Ron muttered to Harry.

"I can just see old Salazar Slytherin trying to come up with different rhymes for 'ambitious' every year," Harry replied quietly. Hermione shot them both the "set a good example" look, and they fell silent and shifted their attention to the Sorting. 

Professor McGonagall had already unrolled the scroll of parchment containing, presumably, the names of all the first-years. She announced to the first-years, "When I call your name, you will step forward, put on the Hat, and sit on the stool to be Sorted. When the Hat announces your House, you will join your new Housemates at the appropriate table." Than, after a glance at the scroll, she called, "Aurelius, Artemis!"

A brown-haired girl, tall for her age, strode forward, picked up the Hat, put it on, and sat down. A few moments later, the Hat shouted, "Slytherin!" 

Athena Aurelius joined the Slytherin table to the cheers of her Housemates, the luke-warm applause of the politer students in the other Houses, and the stony silence (or, in some cases, quiet hisses) of the less self-restrained Gryffindors. Harry shot a repressive look at the twins, who were chief among the hissers. He felt rather than saw Ron and Hermione shooting them similar looks. The twins looked at the trio as if the three had declared Potions their favorite class, but they desisted in their hissing. A House meeting about Gryffindor-Slytherin relations was, Harry saw, going to be necessary. If the Prefects were actually human, how many of the other Slytherins might be as well, given the chance? 

These rather uncharacteristic thoughts drew Harry's mind away from the Sorting, and he missed several names, but the cheers of his Housemates as "Carberry, Josiah" became the first Gryffindor pulled him back. He clapped and cheered along with the other Gryffindors as they were joined by "Freeman, Amanda," "Ingram, Louise," and several others, including "Williamson, Matthew" and his friend from the train, "Tang, Richard." "Pipps, Titus" was Sorted into Hufflepuff along with "Singh, Kirpal," the fourth boy with whom Harry had his friends had spent most of the trip north. 

When the final student ("Zabini, Blondelle," who joined her brother in Slytherin) had been Sorted, Professor McGonagall removed the Hat and the stool, and Professor Dumbledore stood. Blue eyes twinkling, he spread his arms wide in a gesture of welcome. His deep, gentle voice radiated calm authority as he said, "Welcome, welcome, to another year at Hogwarts. After we dine, I will require your attention for a some announcements, but for now I have only two words: _Eat up_."

As he took his seat, the dishes on the House tables suddenly filled with food. The inhabitants of the Hall set to the task of emptying them again. The Hall soon rang with the sounds of dinner—the clank of silverware, the splash of pumpkin juice pouring into goblets, and, above all, the sound of youthful voices making new friends and getting reacquainted with old ones. Under the cover of chatter, Harry said to Ron, "So, we're Prefects, right?" 

"Reckon so."

"And does that mean we can call House meetings?"

Ron looked thoughtful. "Reckon so," he said again. "How come?"

"I was just thinking, during the Sorting. We should probably have a House meeting about, erm, how we get along with other Houses."

"Other Houses like, for example, Slytherin?" 

"For example," Harry agreed his airiest and most unconcerned tones. Both boys grinned.

"Yeah. We should do that," Ron agreed. "You want to talk to Angelina about it?"

"Why don't you talk to Angelina about it?" Harry suggested. "Do you good to get to know the people on the Quidditch team." 

Ron flushed to the roots of his hair, but he immediately left to talk with Angelina. Ginny, who had caught the end of the boys' conversation, smiled conspiratorially at Harry. He smiled back and returned his attention to his food.

Suddenly, Harry heard the sound of boisterous laughter from the Slytherin table. Glancing in that direction, he locked eyes with Malfoy, who pulled a face at him. Harry regarded him impassively for a moment, then stood suddenly. "What's up?" asked Ron, as he slid back into his seat.

"Malfoy. I just remembered his little stunt on the train; that's the sort of thing his Head of House should be told about."

"You're going to talk to _Snape_?" Ron said incredulously. "On purpose?"

"Better to do it now when he's sitting right next to Dumbledore," Harry replied.

"Yeah, probably, but still … rather you than me." 

Harry grimaced in agreement and then strode to the head table. On the way, he repeated silently to himself, "Don't let him get to me. Don't let him get to me." He resolved to be calm and polite, and to rise above whatever nasty things Snape said. Arriving at the table, he said, in his most pacifying tones, "Excuse me, Professor Snape?"

Snape's black eyes narrowed when he saw who was addressing him. "What do you want, Potter?" he spat. Dumbledore gave him a sharp, swift look, but he ignored it and continued to glare at Harry.

"I'm sorry to bother you, sir, but there was an incident on the train involving some students from your House, and I thought you should know about it." Snape didn't respond, so Harry continued, "Draco Malfoy, Vincent Crabbe, and Gregory Goyle were harassing a new first-year student. They tried to take away a letter that he was writing, and they interfered with his pet. Mr. Malfoy also used a very offensive word to refer to the boy's Muggle background. Luckily, some other Prefects and I were walking by on our way to the meeting, so we overheard and were able to step in before anything really bad happened." Harry paused again, and Snape still didn't answer. That was fine with Harry; the less Snape said to him, the better. "Anyway, sir, I just wanted to keep you informed."

Harry was beginning to turn to walk away when Dumbledore's voice stopped him. "Thank you, Harry, for taking your Prefect duties seriously." He paused and glanced meaningfully at Snape. When Snape didn't say anything, he continued, "I will speak to them about their behaviour." Snape shot him a furious look, which the Headmaster blithely ignored. Harry nodded his thanks, and Dumbledore asked, "How was your summer?"

"Fine. Pretty good, considering. Thank you for letting me go to the Weasleys' for the end." Harry chatted with the Headmaster a bit longer until he grew tired of trying to ignore Snape's dark looks, at which point he took his leave and returned to his friends. 

As he settled back into his seat, he noticed Hermione watching him seriously. "What?" he asked.

"You didn't talk to Cho." When Harry looked blank, she added, "At the Prefect's meeting."

Harry no longer looked blank; he looked uncomfortable. He wasn't quite ready to face Cho.

"You can't just avoid her," Hermione said.

"I'm not—" Harry cut himself off when he heard the annoyance in his own voice. He took a calming breath and tried again, more gently this time. "Okay, so I was kind of avoiding her, but I'm not going to do it forever. I will talk to her. Just not yet." He sighed and repeated, "Not yet." 

This time last year, Harry knew, Hermione would have pressed the point. Now, though, she nodded understandingly, and Ron clapped him on the shoulder and changed the subject. Harry felt a rush of gratitude. He blinked a few times and took a sip of pumpkin juice to wash down the lump in his throat, hoping no one was paying attention to him. It wouldn't do to get soppy over how wonderful his friends were in the middle of the feast. Embarrassing, that.

Thankfully, Dumbledore was standing, ready to begin the annual announcements. All eyes shifted to the Head Table.

"Well, then!" Dumbledore said with his customary twinkle. "Now that our stomachs are filled, I must request your attention for a few moments.

"First, a reminder about acceptable bounds for students. The Forbidden Forest is, as its name implies, strictly forbidden. Any students needing further explanation of the word 'forbidden'" (here he glanced significantly at the twins) "should consult with me or with their Head of House. The village of Hogsmeade is off-limits to students below the third year, and it is also out-of-bounds to older students except on official Hogsmeade weekends.

"Mr. Filch, the caretaker, has requested that I inform you of additions to the list of objects forbidden inside the castle. The list now includes Ever-Bouncing Battle Balls, Canary Creams" (Harry saw the twins exchange a glance), "Self-Turning Jump Ropes—which, incidentally, _are_ allowed outside the castle—and Chocolate-Frosted Sugar Bombs. The full list, containing, I believe, four hundred forty-one items, is available for perusal in Mr. Filch's office should anyone care to take a look."

Dumbledore's mustache gave a telltale twitch.

He continued, "All of you know, I believe, about the House Cup. This year, I am pleased to announce the return of the Quidditch Cup—" Here he had to pause a moment to let the deafening cheers die down. "Yes, yes, a happy event. Trials will be held during the second week of term. Students interested in joining their House team should speak with Madame Hooch." Harry nudged Ron, who flushed and looked nervous. 

"Finally, it is my great pleasure to introduce our new teachers. Many of you will remember Miss Delacour. She comes to us from Beauxbatons Academy in France, and she will be assisting Professor Flitwick with Charms classes and doing independent research. Please join me in welcoming her." Fleur Delacour, former Tri-Wizard Champion, stood, flicked her long, white-blonde hair, and waved a lazy hand to acknowledge the applause and cheers. Most of the cheers, Harry noticed, came from male students; some of the girls were glaring balefully at Fleur. Hermione shot Ron a repressive look, and he confined himself to polite applause. Dumbledore continued, "The other new face belongs to our new Defence Against the Dark Arts instructor. Please join me in welcoming Professor Lively." The new teacher, a short, slim, small-boned witch with dark red hair cut in what the Muggles called a pixie-cut (which showed how little they knew about Pixies), stood and nodded politely at the applause. She looked a little older than Snape, maybe in her early forties, and her smile was friendly but a little watchful. Harry hoped she'd be as competent as she looked, for Defence had suddenly become the most important class offered to Hogwarts students.

"And I believe that does it for announcements," Dumbledore was saying. "I hear that some of the Prefects would like to meet with their Houses," (How he had managed to hear this, Harry had no idea, but he had long ago ceased to marvel at Dumbledore's flashes of seeming-omniscience.) "so I am releasing you all to your Common Rooms. Goodnight!" 

He finished with a flourishing gesture toward the door, and the Hall erupted again into the din that only a roomful of students could create. Over the din, Harry heard Hermione calling "Gryffindor first-years, follow us, please!"

_Merlin's beard_, thought Harry. _We're really Prefects_. "Gryffindor first-years, this way!" he said. Ron joined Harry and Hermione in ushering the first-years out of the Hall.

"Aw, look at ickle Ronnie-kins, being all Prefect-y!" 

"Shut it, Fred," Ron said.

"Harry, Ron just told me to shut it. Is that any way for a Prefect to talk?" Fred appealed.

"Yes!" said Harry and Ron in unison. Several of the first-years giggled. Fred hung his head and pretended to slink away in shame, but he was grinning.

Hermione was pointing out landmarks as they made their way through corridors and up staircases toward Gryffindor tower. "Skip this stair; it'll grab your foot if you step on it."

"Cool!" Harry heard Matthew exclaim. He watched as the boy placed a tentative foot on the stair. Sure enough, his foot was soon stuck fast. "Cool!" he repeated. "Um, could somebody get me out, please?"

Hermione was shaking her head, and Harry could practically hear her thinking _boys—honestly_! He and Ron each grabbed one of Matthew's arms, and they grinned at one another over his head as they hoisted him out. 

They made it the rest of the way to Gryffindor tower without incident. They said hello to the Fat Lady, who was very glad to see her new brood, taught the first-years the password ("mooncalf milk"), made their way through the portrait hole, and began looking for seats in the crowded Common Room.

"What's a mooncalf?" Matthew was asking the girl next to him—Elspeth, Harry thought, but he wasn't sure. He reckoned that, as a Prefect, he'd have to make more of an effort than usual to learn the first-years' names as soon as he could. The girl explained about mooncalves, cutting off in mid-sentence when Angelina began to address the group.

"Welcome to Gryffindor!" Angelina said. The second- through seventh-years, who were, per Dumbledore's instructions, milling about in the Common Room instead of heading to bed as they usually did after the opening meal, broke into cheers and applause. The first-years looked pleased. "I'm Angelina Johnson, and I'm a seventh-year Prefect."

"And a Quidditch Chaser!" Lee Jordan added. More cheers and whistles.

"Yes, and a Quidditch Chaser. And I got the short straw, so I have to start this meeting." Ripples of laughter. "Though, as the meeting was Potter's idea, I suppose I should let him speak up now if he wants."

Heads turned toward Harry, who felt his face turn red. The having-large-groups-of-people-look-at-you-all-the-time part of being a Prefect unnerved him a lot. "Well, erm, I'm Harry Potter, and, by some miracle, I'm a fifth-year Prefect." The Gryffindors chuckled encouragingly, and Harry, feeling a little bolder, continued, "And I wanted to have this meeting of the House before classes started so we wouldn't, erm, get off on the wrong foot. Gryffindor House has, for the past… well, quite a few years, not gotten along to well with another Hogwarts House."

"Sleazy Slytherin slimeballs!" Lee interjected. Harry waited for the hoots and catcalls to die down before trying to go on. 

"Yes, that's the House I had in mind. And I'm hoping that, this year, we can, well, try to get along with the Slytherins." Noises of indignation and disbelief issued from several points in the room. Harry paused again. When the noises showed no signs of ending on their own this time, he called over the din, "I know, I know. I know exactly how lousy some of them can be. But the key idea there is _some of them_. Not all of them are so bad."

"Name one!" called Fred.

"Blaise Zabini," Harry replied. "He's a new Prefect, and he's a really nice fellow. All of their Prefects are pretty decent." He glanced to his fellow Prefects for support.

"Harry's right," Angelina said. "The Prefects do seem nice, and I'm hoping that they'll be able to get their Housemates to call a truce this year."

"Those of their Housemates who aren't going to be running around in black masks, anyway," George said darkly.

Harry could feel the tension in the room, but he silently blessed George for getting to the heart of the matter. Harry hadn't wanted to be the one to bring it up, but, now that the topic was out there, he could talk about it. "Okay, so we all know … well, maybe some of the first-years don't know, but they will soon … nearly all of Voldemort's followers" (Harry heard a sharp intake of the collective breath and inwardly rolled his eyes, wishing that people would calm down about saying Voldemort's name) "came from Slytherin. But that doesn't mean that everyone who comes from Slytherin follows Voldemort. Yeah, some of them are jerks, and some of them are probably going to be joining the ranks of the Death Eaters when they get out of Hogwarts. But not all of them." Harry paused for a moment to regard the roomful of sceptical faces. He threw up his hands in a gesture of frustration. "Look, I'm not asking you to be best friends with them; I'm just asking you to give them a chance. Just be nice to the ones who act decent, and ignore the ones who are jerks. Is that so much to ask?"

The room was silent. Finally, Neville Longbottom, bless his forgetful heart, said, "Queenie Greengrass helped me in Potions once. She made sure no one was looking, and she said she'd hex me if I told anyone, but she helped." He shrugged. "I'm willing to call a truce with the Slytherins, Harry. Even if no one else is."

Harry grinned across the room at Neville, and he saw Ron clap him on the back. "Aw, what the heck," Dean Thomas said. "Count me in." 

Several of the other students that Harry knew a little better than the others—the other fifth-years, the Creeveys, Ginny Weasley, some younger students who particularly admired him—began to nod in agreement. However, most of the faces, especially of the older students, still looked rather closed. The nodding heads were a start, but Harry felt that he had to convince the others. He stood for a moment, racking his brain for the key to reaching the rest of his Housemates. 

Across the Hall, his eyes met Ginny's. He could see that she had something to say but that she wasn't quite sure she should say it. "Ginny?" he said, in tones that he hoped were supportive.

"I was just wondering," she began hesitantly. He nodded encouragingly, and she continued, "I was just wondering how many of the people who go to the Dark go there because they feel like it's the only place for them. The only place where people will accept them."

Slowly, Harry nodded. "That's a good point. There are some Slytherins who are just bad, and they'll stay bad no matter what we do. And there are some, I think, who are good and will probably stay good no matter what we do. But I reckon there are a lot who could go either way. I didn't realise it 'til you spoke up, Ginny, but it's those last ones that made me call this meeting tonight."

His Housemates appeared to be mulling this over. All was quiet for a moment, and then Hermione spoke. "And it's for the ones who could go either way that we have to try to ignore the people like Malfoy and others who are always instigators. If the ones who haven't quite made up their minds yet see that we're not willing to stoop to the instigators' level, maybe it will make them see the differences between the two sides. Maybe it will open their eyes to how, well, _childish_ some of the people in their House can be, and maybe it will help them decide that they don't want to be like that. Maybe it will help them see that there's more than one way."

Gradually, around the room, more heads began to nod and more voices began to assent. Hermione was winning them over. She looked meaningfully at Harry as though silently saying that it was time for him to take charge again, to put on the final touch. He said, "I know it won't be easy. Some of the Slytherins really have a grudge against us, and some of them really know how to get under people's skin. But think about the stakes. If we can keep just one person from turning to Voldemort, isn't that worth ignoring a few silly insults?"

More people were nodding now. They didn't all look happy, but they looked willing to try, and that was all Harry wanted. The identical grudging-but-resigned tones of the Weasley twins chimed, "We just want you to know, Harry…."

"… that we're only doing this for you. But we'll try." 

Harry swelled with pride in his Housemates. "Thanks, Fred and George. Thanks, everyone. I really appreciate your help in improving things with Slytherin, and I think it'll make this year … better." He shrugged, suddenly feeling self-conscious and inarticulate. "Anyway, thanks," he said.

Ron, apparently noticing his friend's discomfort, broke in, "And, besides, if we aren't feuding with the Slytherins, we won't lose as many points, and we'll win the House Cup for sure!" This statement was greeted with cheers and whistles, and the meeting broke up in a flood of House spirit. Angelina shooed the older students to bed, Hermione led the first-year girls to their dormitory, and Harry and Ron took charge of the first-year boys. After making sure that Matthew, Richard, Josiah, Kieran, David, and Rory were settled into their room, Harry and Ron headed to the fifth-year boys' room. 

Dean, still overflowing with Gryffindor spirit, greeted them with slaps on the back as soon as they entered. "Bloody good show!" he said enthusiastically. "We _are_ going to win the House Cup! And the Quidditch Cup! And … and everything! Good show!" he finished exuberantly.

"And good feast," Seamus said. "The house-elves outdid themselves again."

The boys agreed that the feast had been incredible, though Neville worried that all that food so late in the day might make him have funny dreams. Eventually, Dean calmed down, the conversation wound to a halt, and the boys collapsed into their scarlet-curtained beds. But it wasn't Neville who dreamed. It was Harry.

_He was walking in a forest, a forest that both was and was not the Forbidden Forest. There was a path, and he was trying to stay on it, but he kept losing it in the tangled underbrush. Trees grabbed at his cloak with—were those limbs, or were they fingers?—but he stayed on the path. The trees grew thicker now, closer together. Their limbs formed a canopy woven so tightly that he could no longer see the slightest bit of sky. It would have been too dark to see if not for a single patch of light just at the head of the path. That light, he knew, was why he had to stay on the path. He had to get to it. Had to reach the light. He kept walking. And then he ran._

The path ended in a clearing, and in the clearing was a house, and coming from the house there was light. The light. The one that it had been so urgent that he find. The house was clearly a wizarding house; it had angles just as improbable as the ones at The Burrow, but it was much grander—not a mansion, but still impressive. But it lacked the coziness of The Burrow, and Harry hoped that he wouldn't have to go in. He crept to the window, and it opened, and he could hear what was happening inside. Two people were talking.

The first voice was high and cruel, and it froze Harry's insides. Voldemort's voice. "Wait a bit longer. They go to bed rather late."

A cold, drawling voice, only slightly less cruel, responded smoothly, "It is always so much more entertaining when one has to wake them first." A pause, and then, "My lord, are you certain that my presence is not needed on this mission? Crabbe and Goyle have the best of intentions—they live to serve you, my lord, as do I—but their heads are not always, shall we say, as cool as one might wish, particularly if anything unexpected should happen."

"Lucius, my slippery friend, if Crabbe and Goyle cannot handle so routine a mission as this on their own, then they are entirely useless, and you know that I have no need for useless followers. This is a test for you, gentlemen. A very easy test, I should hope." Voldemort's voice left no doubt about what would happen if the "test" proved too difficult, and Harry shivered despite the warmth of the evening.

Two other voices grunted in reply, and the cold drawl answered, "I am sure that you know best, my lord. Though I do wish I could be there. The girl has been most impertinent to my son."

Voldemort's voice was steely as he answered, "I have more important things to concern myself with than injuries to your son's pride, Mr. Malfoy. And so do you. You have your own mission tonight, and it is much more important than the mere killing of a pair of insignificant Muggles."

Two Muggles. Killing. A girl who didn't get along with Draco Malfoy. The pieces fell together in Harry's mind, and he screamed, "NO!" 

Harry bolted awake to the sound of his own voice screaming, "No!" He was clutching his forehead; his scar was throbbing. His dream was still vivid in his mind, and he knew that he had to get to Dumbledore as soon as possible. He leapt out of bed and was halfway across the room before he noticed the four sleepy faces sticking out between various bed curtains. "Nightmare," he said tersely. "I have to go to Dumbledore."

"Not by yourself." Ron was completely awake now.

There wasn't time to argue, and he didn't really feel like arguing anyway, so Harry merely said, "Come on, then; no time to lose," and continued on his way, counting on Ron to catch up. He did, and the two boys raced down the stairs, through the Common Room, and out the portrait hole. They ran through the corridors, never slowing down until they reached the gargoyle outside the entrance to the Headmaster's chambers. As they stood there, panting, Harry looked at the gargoyle in frustration. He didn't know the password. "Please let me in to see the Headmaster," he said to the gargoyle. "It's an emergency." 

The gargoyle didn't respond, but someone else did. Professor Snape, with his characteristic uncanny ability to appear out of nowhere, spoke up from just behind Harry and Ron, causing both of them to jump. "It had better be some emergency, Potter, or the two of you will be in detention until you're too old to remember why."

Harry turned to face the Potions master. Fighting down the habitual annoyance that Snape always made him feel, he said, in as polite a tone as he could manage, "I need to see Professor Dumbledore immediately. Could you tell me the password, please?"

"It is not school policy to give out the Headmaster's password to every passing student, Potter," Snape replied. 

"Please, sir. It's very important."

Snape sneered at him. "You always think that what you have to say is important, Potter, and it seldom is."

Throwing caution and courtesy aside, Harry took a step closer to Snape, looked straight into his cold, black eyes, and said in his deadliest tone, "The last time I needed to see the Headmaster and you held me up, Barty Crouch died. Unless you want more blood on your hands, you give me that password _now_."

Snape just stood there stock-still for a moment, and Harry held his gaze, refusing to back down. After a pause that felt like an eternity but probably only lasted a few seconds, he said, seemingly out of the blue, "Canary Cream."

Harry nearly blinked at the apparent non-sequiter, but, out of the corner of his eye, he saw the gargoyle jump aside. "Thank you," he said. Without waiting for a reply, he bolted up the moving stairs. He heard Ron's heavy tread just a few steps behind him. When they reached the top, he pounded firmly on the Headmaster's door. Within moments, the door opened, and a dressing-gown-clad Dumbledore was ushering Harry and Ron into his office. 

"Good evening, gentlemen," he said briefly, taking them in with a typically courteous nod. Then, switching quickly to business, he asked, "What's wrong, Harry?" 

"I just had a nightmare, sir, and I think Death Eaters are planning to attack the Grangers's house tonight." He heard Ron gasp, and he continued, in the same breath, "Very soon. Can you stop them?"

Dumbledore didn't ask questions; he simply rose from his chair and walked to the fireplace. He tossed in a handful of Floo Powder, called out, "Lupin's Lair," and disappeared into the fire. Within moments, he was back, climbing from the fireplace and readjusting his night cap. "I've sent reinforcements. All we can do now is wait and hope." He settled back into his chair and focussed his bright blue gaze on Harry. "While we wait, Harry, why don't you tell me the details of your dream?"

"Erm, Professor Dumbledore?" Ron interrupted. "Should someone tell Hermione? I think she'll be really upset if she finds out that we knew something was about to happen to her parents and we didn't tell her." 

"That's a very wise idea, Ron," Dumbledore replied. "Just a moment." He Flooed away again and returned even more quickly this time. "Professor McGonagall is bringing Hermione here," he said. "Perhaps we should wait until she arrives before we continue."

The room fell silent. Harry continued to rub absently at his scar, which still twinged just a little. He felt sick. Even if Lupin and the others got there in time, no good could come of tonight, and the Grangers would never be safe. He tried to push away the feelings of self-blame that threatened to overwhelm him. Intellectually, he knew that it wasn't his fault. Nothing that Voldemort did was his fault. But that knowledge didn't take away the guilt that rose like bile in his throat. No, it wasn't his fault, but it still wouldn't have happened if he hadn't been who he was. Not a useful thought, but one whose truth he couldn't escape. So he just sat, rubbing his scar and worrying until Hermione and McGonagall arrived.

"What's wrong?" Hermione asked the moment she was in the door. "Did you have a nightmare, Harry?"

"Have a seat, Hermione," Dumbledore said kindly. She did, and he continued, "Harry dreamed of an impending Death Eater attack on your parents." Hermione gasped, just as Ron had, and Dumbledore continued, "I have sent some powerful wizards to protect them, and I think they arrived in time. If they had arrived too late, one of them would already have contacted me. Since I have not heard from them yet, I'm assuming that all is well." He paused and turned his attention to Harry. "Now, Harry, why don't you fill us in on the details of your dream."

Staring at the floor, Harry quickly recounted the dream for them. He glanced up when he got to Lucius Malfoy's comment that Hermione had been "impertinent" to his son, and he saw a look of murderous rage on Ron's face. Hermione looked too shocked to be angry. Dumbledore was merely listening, his expression typically collected. 

When Harry finished, Dumbledore said, "You were not able to get any sense of what Lucius Malfoy's 'mission' was to be, is that correct?" Harry nodded, and Dumbledore sighed. "I imagine we will find it out all too soon."

"I'm sorry, sir. If had stayed asleep, I might have been able to hear more, but I screamed, and it woke me up." He was a little angry with himself; he should have stayed asleep to hear more.

"No need for apologies, Harry. Given the Ministry's lack of cooperation, we cannot hope to thwart every plan of Voldemort's. If you had not awakened when you did, you might not have been able to reach me in time to save the Grangers." When Harry didn't look convinced, he added softly, "You did enough, Harry. You always do."

Dumbledore's confidence in him made Harry feel a little better. He even managed a smile.

Dumbledore turned to Ron and Hermione, including them in his next words. "I know that the three of you have never gotten on with Draco Malfoy and his friends." In spite of the tension, Harry and Ron exchanged rueful grins; that was the understatement of the century. "But I ask you not to blame the children for their parents' mistakes."

Harry and Ron looked at one another in confusion. Then, the light came on for Harry. "You mean we aren't supposed to go hex Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle to try to get even," he said.

"That is precisely what I mean."

Ron shifted, and Harry recognised the rebellious look in his eye. It was a more serious version of the Hermione-wants-me-to-do-something-and-I-don't-wanna-so-I'm-not-gonna look. Hermione must have recognised the look, too, for she spoke up for the first time since hearing the news of Harry's dream. "He's right, Ron. Fighting with them wouldn't do any good, and it would only get us in trouble. We're Prefects; we can't…."

"Can't 'set a bad example?'" Ron's voice was slightly mocking. "They're trying to kill your parents, Hermione! That's a little more serious than just making cracks about me about being poor. Are we just supposed to let them get away with it?"

Dumbledore looked like he was about to speak, but he seemed to decide to let Hermione handle it. She answered, "_They_ aren't trying to kill my parents. _Their fathers _are trying to kill my parents. For once, this isn't something that they've done. They probably don't even know about it."

"I imagine that you are correct, Hermione," Dumbledore replied. "Lucius Malfoy is far too canny to implicate his son in any of his activities. I am sure that all three boys know that their fathers are Death Eaters, but I doubt that any of them know anything more specific than that." He added, so softly that Harry almost didn't hear him, "I doubt that they have any idea what it means." 

Harry nodded. This whole war was, in many ways, just a game to Draco Malfoy and his friends. So far as he knew, they'd never seen anyone tortured. They'd never seen anyone die. None of it was real to them; they really did have no idea. 

Hermione suddenly buried her face in her hands, and her shoulders began to shake. The shock of Harry's news had apparently worn off, and the tears of worry had come. Harry started to rise to go to her, but Dumbledore motioned for him to stay where he was. Half a moment later, Ron was gently pulling Hermione out of her chair. He put his arms around her comfortingly and let her cry against his chest. "It'll be okay," he said gently. "It'll be okay." 

He looked over her head to meet Harry's eyes. Ron looked a little scared, a little out of his depth, but he was doing all the right things, and Harry was proud of him. Harry almost looked away, afraid that Ron would get one of his sudden waves of embarrassment at being caught within five feet of Hermione, but instead he held his friend's gaze and nodded approvingly. The barest hint of a grateful smile flitted across Ron's face, and the hand that was stroking Hermione's hair seemed to move a little more confidently. _Good job, Ron_, Harry thought.

Visibly pulling herself together, Hermione pulled a bit away from Ron. "Thanks, Ron," she said. "I'm all right now." She sat down, this time on the small sofa where Ron had been sitting. Ron sat beside her and, after a brief hesitation, took her hand. Everyone sat quietly for a moment. Then, with a faint pop, the head of Remus Lupin, former Defence teacher at Hogwarts, appeared in the fireplace. 

"Professor Dumbledore," Lupin said, "The Grangers are fine, and we managed to subdue the two Death Eaters with no problems. What do we do now?"

"Where are you now?" Dumbledore asked.

"I'm home; I Apparated back here to check with you about what to do next. The others are still keeping an eye on the Grangers and the two prisoners."

Dumbledore thought for a moment and then instructed Lupin to bring everyone—the Grangers, Crabbe and Goyle _peres_, and the rest of the rescue squad—to Hogwarts by Portkey. Lupin agreed, and his head disappeared from the fire. Within a few minutes, Dumbledore's office was full of people. Harry recognised the Grangers, Lupin, Sirius, Arthur Weasley, and Mad-Eye Moody (the real one, presumably), and he assumed that the two unconscious figures with the Death Eater masks were Crabbe and Goyle. The eighth person was a stranger, a tall, very thin man with thinning brown hair who looked just a little older than Mr. Weasley. Everyone except Moody and the Death Eaters was wearing pajamas. Moody was in everyday robes, and Harry wondered if the old Auror ever slept; he kind of doubted it. 

Hermione rushed to her parents and hugged them. While they stood, huddled together, Dumbledore motioned for the rescue squad to sit down; he had to Summon a few extra chairs. One of the Death Eaters began to stir; Sirius, who was walking across the room toward Harry, pulled out a wand, aimed it lazily, and said "_Stupefy**!"**_ The Death Eater was still again, and Sirius continued his journey to Harry's side. 

"Sirius! Where'd you get a wand?" Harry asked.

"Long story," came the reply, accompanied by a cat-with-canary grin. [SEE OUTTAKE.] Sirius pulled Harry from the chair and hugged him hard. He let go before Harry had time to hug back. 

"What was that for?"

"I'm glad to see my godson," Sirius answered. "How are you?"

"Okay." Harry shrugged. When Sirius looked sceptical, he elaborated, "Relieved, mostly, but still a little shaken up."

"Prophetic dreams are creepy. If had one, I'd be a little shaky myself." Sirius took a chair next to Harry; everyone else had already found a seat. Dumbledore gestured to Lupin, indicating that he should report. Harry was strongly reminded of television shows about military operations. He realised that the analogy was appropriate; they were, he supposed, at war.

"After you left, Albus, I sent Sirius to contact Mundungus and Alastor, and then I Apparated straight to the Grangers's house. I rang the doorbell, and Mr. Granger answered. I explained what was happening, and I sent them to the cellar. Then, the Sirius arrived with the others, plus Arthur, and we spread out. Sirius and I went upstairs in case the Death Eaters tried to Apparate straight in. Mundungus, Alastor, and Arthur stayed by the front door. We turned off all the lights to make it look like everyone in the house had gone to sleep. About ten minutes later, an "Alohamora" charm was performed on the back door. Sirius heard the door open, so he and I very quietly headed for downstairs. The two Death Eaters walked through the kitchen and into the parlour. One made as far as the bottom of the staircase, where Sirius and I Stunned him. The other was a little behind the first, and Mundungus and Alastor Stunned him. It all went quite easily; we took them completely by surprise. And then I sent Sirius to call Grangers up from the cellar, and I Apparated home to get further instructions from you. Then I Apparated back to the Grangers's, and we all Portkeyed here." 

"Very good," Dumbledore said. "Excellent job, gentlemen. And now there are two questions to be discussed. First, what shall we do with the apprehended Death Eaters there, and, second, where should the Grangers go?"

The Grangers looked alarmed at the second question. Mr. Granger asked, "What do you mean, where should we go? We'll go home, of course. This is all over now, isn't it?"

"I'm afraid not, Mr. Granger," Dumbledore answered gently. "Lord Voldemort does not take kindly to having his plans thwarted, and I imagine that, as soon as he discovers that his minions have failed, he will send a more able set to make another attempt on your lives. You are no longer safe at that house, and you are probably not safe in your dental office either."

"Then where will we go? What will we do? We have to keep up the practise," Mrs. Granger protested.

"Professor Dumbledore is right," Hermione said. "You'll have to close the office and go into hiding, or they'll come and kill you." This statement seemed to shock her parents into silence. Professor Dumbledore gave them a moment to think before he spoke again.

"You are, of course, welcome to stay here at Hogwarts, but I doubt that you'd be comfortable here; it's an odd place for Muggles. I would suggest that you go abroad—someplace where you'd like to spend a bit of time."

"What about our patients?" Mr. Granger asked. "We have appointments booked for the next eight months."

"Have your secretary cancel them. Mundungus and Alastor will accompany you back to your home to pack and to write a note to your secretary; merely say that you have had an emergency and that you must close the office until further notice. Do not tell her where you are going."

Mr. Granger looked set to protest, but his wife interrupted. "He's right, dear. This is what we need to do to be safe for Hermione." Mr. Granger fell silent, and Dumbledore continued his instructions.

"I will arrange for your finances while you are abroad. There is a special fund for Muggles who are displaced due to magical circumstances, and I have friends in that department who will not insist on my telling them the place to which you have been moved. I also suggest that you do not use your real names while you are abroad. Sirius can make Muggle documentation for you—passports and the like. He is, as I recall, an expert forger."

Harry and Ron shared another grin. It was just like Sirius to be able to forge passports. 

"Do you have any questions?" Dumbledore asked.

"A million," Mr. Granger answered, "but nothing productive. If you can take care of getting us settled somewhere, then I suppose we really have no alternative but to go." His wife nodded in agreement. 

"Very well. Now, the second item of business: What shall we do with Mr. Crabbe and Mr. Goyle?"

"I wanted to kill them, but Lupin wouldn't let me." This helpful comment was from Mad-Eye Moody, of course. 

Dumbledore's mustache twitched. "Thank you, Remus, for controlling your colleague. At any rate, we must turn them over to the Ministry." Moody snorted derisively; Dumbledore gave him a stern look. "Unauthorised entry into the home of a Muggle family is enough for a long sentence in Azkaban, even if the Ministry refuses to believe that they were there for Death Eater purposes."

"That's why I contacted Arthur." Sirius spoke up now. "I knew we needed a reliable witness. I can't testify; Remus is a werewolf, so juries would be prejudiced against him; Mad-Eye's considered mildly insane. Mundungus is the most reliable witness of the lot of us, and I knew his story would be much more convincing if he had someone to corroborate it."

"Which I'll be happy to do," Mr. Weasley said. 

"Thank you, Arthur. And that was good thinking, Sirius, to contact Arthur. Good work." Dumbledore smiled briefly at Sirius before continuing. "Now, before we pack them off to the Ministry, do any of you think that they might have helpful information? Should we interrogate them first?"

Harry was surprised to hear himself speaking up. "I don't think it would do much good. They seem to be really stupid, and I doubt Voldemort trusts them with much information. They might know what Lucius Malfoy was supposed to do tonight, but I sort of doubt it."

"You're probably right, Harry," Dumbledore agreed. "I think it's best to let them wake up in Azkaban. Arthur, will you help me take them to the Ministry?" Mr. Weasley nodded. "And, Mundungus and Alastor, you will take the Grangers home and help them pack? Very good. Sirius, you'll get started on those passports? Excellent. And, Remus, I suppose that leaves you to go home to bed."

"I definitely have the best job," Lupin said with a tired smile. 

"Quite so. Now, let's give the Grangers a moment to themselves." Professor Dumbledore indicated a door to a room just off the office. "The three of you can use that room for a bit." 

Hermione and her parents went through the door. The rest of the group broke into small clumps of conversation. Harry and Sirius joined Ron and Mr. Weasley, Remus chatted with Professor Dumbledore, and Mad-Eye Moody held forth in disgruntled tones to an amused-looking Fletcher. Several minutes later, the Grangers emerged. "We're ready, Professor Dumbledore," Mrs. Granger said.

"How will we get the Grangers back home?" Fletcher asked. "We can't Apparate from Hogwarts, and, even if we could, they can't."

"That Portkey that you came here on is round-trip. It automatically returns you to the point from which you departed." Harry shuddered at Dumbledore's matter-of-fact explanation and wondered if he'd ever be able to hear about Portkeys again without thinking of Cedric. "Arthur and I will go with you, and we'll alert the Ministry from there. Best to have them come to the scene of the crime."

"If you already have passports, I'd like to have them," Sirius said. "It's much easier to change the old ones than to start from scratch."

"They're at home," Mr. Granger replied. 

"Fine. I'll collect them and then leave before the Ministry wizards arrive. I'll meet you at home, Moony?"

Remus nodded, bit them all goodnight, tossed a handful of Floo powder into the fire, and called, "Lupin's Lair!" He stepped in and was gone.

"Harry, Ron, Hermione, you three should report to Madame Pomfrey for some Dreamless Sleep potion; you need to get some rest."

"I'll sleep fine without it, Professor," Ron said. "I'm exhausted."

Harry and Hermione concurred, so Professor Dumbledore relented and agreed that they could just return to their House. He ushered them out of his office, clapping a hand on Harry's shoulder and telling him again that he had done a good job. The trio rode down the moving spiral stairs, made their way out past the gargoyle, and headed back to their dorm. 

At first, they were quiet, too tired and overwhelmed to chat. Then, a grin began to tug at the corners of Ron's mouth. "Harry, you know you're my best mate, and I'd stand by you through fire and flood, but would you be too offended if I don't sit with you in Potions class on Monday?"

Harry groaned and buried his face in his hands. "What?" Hermione asked, perplexed.

"Well, you see, Hermione," Ron said with ill-restrained glee, "Harry spoke a bit … _sharply_ to Snape this evening, and I reckon our favorite Potions Master is going to make him pay for it tomorrow. I just don't want to get caught in the crossfire."

"What did you say to Professor Snape, Harry?"

"He wouldn't give me the password to Dumbledore's office. It was an emergency," Harry replied with as much dignity as he could muster.

"But what did you _say_?" When Harry didn't answer, Hermione turned appealingly to Ron, who was more than happy to repeat Harry's remark. "_Harry_!" Hermione exclaimed, sounding scandalised.

"It was incredible, Hermione; you should've seen it!" Ron enthused. "First time I've ever seen the ugly git rendered speechless." He added admiringly, "You're kind of intimidating when you want to be, Harry, you know that?"

Harry groaned again in reply. He doubted he'd have a chance to do much intimidating in Potions class. Ah, well; Snape had given him the password, and the Grangers had been saved, and that was worth a few days of Snape being, well, more _himself_ than usual. If he'd had it to do over, Harry decided that he wouldn't do anything differently. That was probably all he could ask of himself.

The trio arrived back at Gryffindor, woke up the Fat Lady to give her the password, and clambered through the portrait hole into the Common Room. They stood awkwardly for a moment, not quite ready to separate to go to their dormitories. Ron finally broke the silence. "Will you be all right by yourself, Hermione? We could, you know, sleep down here on the couches if …."

Hermione assured them that she would be fine. Then, before Harry had time to prepare himself, she was throwing her arms around him, murmuring "Thanks" into his ear, and kissing his cheek. She did the same to Ron (holding him just a bit longer, Harry noticed) and then ran up the stairs to the girl's dormitory before either of them had a chance to respond. Ron stared after her, gaping. Then he looked at Harry, bemused. "She's such a … a … girl!" 

"She'll be so glad you've noticed," Harry replied. "Ow," he added half-heartedly; it hadn't actually hurt, but Harry felt that it would be bad form to ignore Ron's smack to the back of his head. 

"There's no _way_ I'm sitting with you in Potions after that crack."

"Sitting with Hermione, are you?" This time, Harry managed to duck in time to avoid the smack. Grinning, the two boys made their way up the stairs, fell into their beds, and went immediately to sleep.

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Author's Note: Thanks to all the lovely people who have reviewed! Your feedback has been so helpful and encouraging. And thanks again to Yolanda for the beta and especially for her help with the Common Room scene. If you want to hear Sirius's "long story" about getting his wand, check out the outtake "A Visit to Mr. Ollivander," available on my author page. Apologies, as always, for formatting odditities.

Just a warning: It'll probably be a while before the next update. I'm out of town, and thus away from the computer, for a couple of weeks.


	9. First Lessons, Last Straws

Disclaimer: All the characters, spells, Beasts, and situations that you recognise (and maybe even some you don't) belong to JKR, particularly the information on Jobberknolls. I'm just borrowing them for a while, and no copyright violation is intended. I'm still not making any money from this story.

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Author Notes for Chapter 9:

Thanks to Yolanda for the beta, and thanks again to my fabulous reviewers (especially the ones who liked my much-sweated-over Sorting Hat song). Reviewers ROX! 

This is the first chapter where I'm making what I expect to be a fairly controversial plot decision. It's something that I'm 99.9% certain Rowling won't do, but I kind of wish she would, so I'm Going There. I hope it works. Okay, I'll shut up now and let you read. 

TSS

Chapter Nine: First Lessons, Last Straws

Since term had begun on a Friday, the Hogwarts students had the weekend to get settled into life in the castle. The Prefects took turns taking the first-years from their Houses on tours of the castle and its grounds—Harry managed to wheedle his way out of showing the Gryffindor first-years the way to the dungeons—and most of the new students seemed to catch on to things pretty quickly. After a few rescue missions, they even managed to convince Matthew not to jump onto the staircases as they changed direction "just to see where they'll go." 

Saturday breakfast was marked by an odd scene as the other side of the Great Hall. Harry's eyes happened to light on the Slytherin table just in time to witness it, and he had to look twice to be sure he was seeing correctly. Was Malfoy _yelling_ at his two thugs? Harry watched for a moment, then elbowed Ron. "Check out Malfoy and the dynamic duo."

Ron and Harry watched as Malfoy sent Crabbe and Goyle away. They looked confused—which was nothing new, really, but this was even more so than usual—and Malfoy wore an expression somewhere between fury and disgust. 

"What's with that?" Ron asked.

"Looks like he's holding a letter," Hermione said. Harry looked more closely, and, sure enough, there was a crumpled letter in Malfoy's hand. "Probably from his father telling him where his friends' fathers are now."

"So, what, Malfoy's cutting them loose because their dads messed up a Death Eater assignment?" Harry asked. Hermione nodded. "But he needs them. Needs their muscle to back up his little threats." Harry couldn't quite believe that Malfoy would voluntarily sever his ties to his two goons.

"But, if Father says they have to go, then they have to go. What Father says goes," Hermione said.

"'Dear Draco, Ditch the deadwood. Love, Dad,'" Ron supplied.

Harry shrugged in disbelief, and the conversation turned to other matters, but Harry made sure to check at every meal, and he didn't see Malfoy with Crabbe and Goyle for the rest of the weekend.

Hermione managed to cajole all of the Gryffindor fifth-years (not just Harry and Ron) into a brief—well, brief for Hermione—OWLs study session on Sunday afternoon. Harry suspected that his classmates were being nice to her because of her parents, but, whatever their reasons, it did set a precedent. Harry wished the weekend could last a bit longer, for he knew that it would take more than a couple of days for Professor Snape to cool off after their heated encounter of Friday night, and the Gryffindors had Potions on Monday afternoon. But Monday morning came quickly, and it found Harry nervous and edgy. 

These feelings manifested themselves as a serious case of grouchiness. So far, he'd thrown his alarm clock across the room, snapped at each of his roommates in turn, and snarled at Peeves so ferociously that the poltergeist had actually stopped pestering him and slunk away looking like his feelings had been hurt. And now it was time to get out of bed. 

"Right little bluebird of happiness this morning, aren't you?" Ron commented as they walked down to meet Hermione in the Common Room.

Harry nearly snapped at his friend again, but he caught himself in time. Instead, he apologised. "Sorry. I'm just worried about Potions class. It's making my fuse a little short."

"What's making your fuse short?" Hermione asked, arriving just in time to hear the end of the boys' conversation.

"Snape," Ron answered. "Harry's fretting over what the greasy git's going to do to him today."

"Don't call him that, Ron; what if a first-year heard you?" Hermione chided.

"Then the first-year would be forewarned?" Ron replied.

"Not exactly setting a good example, though."

Ron rolled his eyes and muttered, "If I hear _one_ more word about setting a good example. "

Harry grinned and shook his head, thinking about how dull life would be if Ron and Hermione couldn't find something to argue about. Peaceful, yes, but dull. He interrupted the squabbling pair with a reminder that if they wanted to set a good example by getting to breakfast in time to talk to the first-years before they left for their early Potions class, they needed to move on. Ron and Hermione ceased fire for now, and the three of them made their way to the Great Hall.

At breakfast, Harry tried to hide the fact that he was too nervous to eat by wandering along the Gryffindor table, goblet in hand, talking encouragingly to the new first-years. He made sure that they remembered the way to the dungeons, warned them not to talk or fool around in class, and sent them on their way. Then he, Ron, and Hermione lingered at the table. Their first class didn't begin until later in the morning, so they were in no hurry. Ron read Hermione's copy of the _Daily Prophet_ over her shoulder while she pestered Harry to eat; apparently, she hadn't been distracted by his meanderings among the first-years. Harry managed to choke down some tea, a little toast, and the leftover bits of bacon from which he had fed Hedwig the rind, and he gave his own copy of the _Daily Prophet_ a quick skim. There were no interesting headlines. An article about the arrest of Messrs. Crabbe and Goyle, including no mention of Death Eater activity or Voldemort, had been buried on the bottom of the back page of Saturday's edition; since then, there had been nothing. Harry tossed the paper aside. 

"Ready to go?" Hermione asked. "We'll be a little early, but that way we can get good seats."

Harry grinned across the table at Ron, who was rolling his eyes. "Good seats. What is this, a Quidditch match?" Hermione glared at him, and he threw up his hands in surrender. "Fine, fine. Let's get a move on. Hate to see the top box get all filled up before we get there." Hermione smacked him gently on the shoulder, and his ears turned pink. Harry managed to turn his snicker into a cough, and they set off for the Defence classroom.

They arrived just as the previous class of sixth-years was coming out of the room. Patrick Croaker, a Gryffindor Prefect, greeted his fifth-year counterparts with, "Wow. She's amazing. Totally amazing." He was gone before they could reply.

Harry and Ron looked at one another and shrugged. Hermione was already hurrying into the classroom, so they followed, and she led them to three seats at the front and centre of the room. Professor Lively, who was sitting at her desk, regarded them calmly. "Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, and Miss Granger," she said. They nodded, impressed that she already knew their names. "Welcome. I'm looking forward to teaching you." Her voice was low-pitched for a woman, and very clear. It sounded like the voice of someone not accustomed to having to repeat herself. 

"What will we be doing this year?" Hermione asked.

"A bit of this, a bit of that," she answered. "Mostly practical lessons, with occasional theoretical foundation thrown in for variety. Things to get you up to speed for the OWLs. I'll go into a bit more detail when the rest of your classmates arrive. Ah, here they come now." She was correct; the rest of the Gryffindor fifth-years were trickling into the classroom. She waited for them to get settled and then called the roll. She seemed to know all of their names, and Harry wondered if she had learned all of the students' names and faces already. Then she smiled at them. 

"Well, now I know who all of you are," she said. "You're probably wondering a bit about who I am. My name is Artemis Lively, though I suppose you should call me 'Professor Lively.' That seems to be the tradition I remember from my student days back near the dawn of time. I am forty-three years old, which makes me the right age to have been at school with some of your parents, and, for the right price, I might be convinced into telling you horror stories about them." She grinned, and several students grinned back. Harry did some quick mental arithmetic and determined that, though she was older than his parents, she would have overlapped with them for a few years. She continued, "I was recruited by the Aurors right out of Hogwarts, and I worked with them for several years. I left when the Ministry authorised the use of the Unforgivable Curses on suspected Death Eaters. The Killing Curse is occasionally a necessity in combat, but the other two…." She trailed off and grimaced in disapproval. "At any rate, I felt that I could no longer in good conscience work for the Ministry. So I quit, and I joined the MGs."

There was a gasp of awe from most of the magical-born students. Harry felt, not for the first time, a sense of what he had missed by not growing up in the wizarding world; he had no idea what the MGs were. Fortunately, Professor Lively explained. "'MG' stands for 'Magical Guerillas'—that's 'guerilla' with a 'u,' not with an 'o' like the big monkeys. They are a private group dedicated to fighting the Dark, and, although most wizards know of their existence, they try to keep their activities fairly secret. For that reason, I can't tell you about most of the things that I did with the MGs, but I learned at least as much from them as I did from the Ministry's training and probably more. Basically, they're like private Aurors but with fewer restrictions and less bureaucracy, and they work with the Ministry sometimes, but they don't answer to the Ministry. I stayed with the MGs for a few years after Voldemort fell…." The class gasped again, and Professor Lively looked amused. "_Voldemort_," she said again, drawing the name out. "I say it. Get used to it. Anyway, after _Voldemort_ fell, I stayed with the MGs for a couple of years, and then, once I decided that the world would be safe without my attention for a little while, I went to art school. I've been living by my brush and chisel since then. 

"And, then, back in July, I had an unexpected visit from your Headmaster, and here I am. I've never taught people your age before, but I led training for MG recruits, so I've taught the subject, and I have first-hand experience of the dangers that I fear we will all be facing very soon. I have two goals for your class this year. I want to prepare you for the OWLs, and I want to prepare you for the world. Most of the things I'll teach you will be things that I learned in Auror and MG training. We'll duel, we'll do obstacle course work, we might take a few field trips … we'll do many different things. And we'll talk. We'll talk about the Dark—why people turn to it, how to avoid it, how to be careful without being fearful. We'll talk about a lot of things." She paused and looked at the class again as though taking stock of them. Then she smiled. "Talking of talking, I've done rather enough of it for a while. It's time for me to assess your current level of competence at dueling. Mr. Weasley, please step forward."

Several minutes later, Ron had Twitchy Ears, Jelly Legs, and Chattering Teeth, but he still had his wand in his hand; Professor Lively hadn't managed to disarm him. Ron had cast several spells, but she had blocked them all. After his Tickling Spell grazed her cheek (causing her to giggle a bit), she arched one eyebrow at him and said, "Araneasora!" A huge spider shot from her wand and began to crawl toward Ron. He jumped backward, knocking over a chair, and shot an Impediment Jinx at the spider. The Impediment Jinx worked, for the spider froze where it stood, but Professor Lively's distraction worked, too; as Ron was shouting "_Impedimentia_!" she was shouting "_Expelliarmus_!" and Ron's wand flew into her hand. He grinned sheepishly, realising that he had been outfoxed.

"Not bad, Mr. Weasley. Not bad at all. Five points for Gryffindor. Here, let me take care of those Twitchy Ears for you." Professor Lively said, "_Finite Incantatum_," which also made the spider disappear, and handed the no-longer-twitching-and-chattering Ron his wand. He returned to his seat, and Professor Lively called Lavender Brown to the front of the room. She didn't do quite as well as Ron, but she held her own. Several other students followed, and each was eventually disarmed by Professor Lively, who gave them each five House points for their trouble. Finally, Hermione managed to disarm the instructor by pretending that Lively's Confundus Charm had broken her Shielding Charm. Hermione stared dazedly for a moment and looked at her wand as if she had never seen it before. Then, at just the right moment, she shouted, "_Expelliarmus_!" Professor Lively's wand flew from her hand, and she burst into approving chuckles.

"Excellent work, Miss Granger! Excellent! Ten points for Gryffindor!" Professor Lively reclaimed her wand and called Harry forward.

They bowed to one another, and Harry immediately called, "_Expelliarmus_!" His spell collided in mid-air with Professor Lively's, and they both ducked to avoid the ricochet. She recovered faster, and Harry had to roll sideways to avoid her Disarming Spell. He cast a Shielding Charm, which gave him time to get back on his feet. Professor Lively broke through his Shielding Charm fairly quickly, and he was soon so busy Blocking that he didn't have time to cast a spell of his own. He noticed, though he didn't have time to think about it, that she wasn't playing about with him—no Tickling Spells or Jelly-Legs Jinxes. She seemed to be taking him seriously. 

As he Blocked, he began backing slowly toward the door, a plan forming in his head. She was advancing as he retreated, keeping an even distance between them. When he felt the door at his back, he groped behind him for the knob with his left hand and continued Blocking with his right. When he found the knob, he opened the door and, with one swift movement, threw himself backward and sideways so that he now had the classroom wall between himself and Professor Lively. He heard his classmates laughing and the professor's half-joking, "Hey! Come out and fight like a man!" 

Harry took a deep breath to steady himself. Then he stuck his wand around the doorframe and called, "_Serpentosora_!" He couldn't see it, but he knew that he had just shot a snake into the classroom and, with any luck, toward Professor Lively. Concentrating on thoughts of the snake, Harry said, "Distract her." The words came out in an odd hiss, and Harry knew that he had succeeded in speaking Parseltongue. Wand at the ready, he leapt back into the doorway, where he was greeted by the sight of a huge, black snake dancing in front of Professor Lively. The snake was managing both to avoid her spells and to block her view of Harry. The snake just needed to move a little to the left, and Harry could … there! "_Expelliarmus_!" Harry called. He reached up and caught her wand in his left hand. Pointing his own wand at the snake, he called, "_Finite Incantatum_!" The snake vanished. Harry walked back into the room to give Professor Lively her wand. 

"Mr. Potter, if this were a professional duel, you would be disqualified for leaving the competition area," she said. She regarded him archly, and the class held its collective breath. Then she smiled. "However, as it is not a professional duel, you receive ten points for Gryffindor. Excellent work." 

Harry smiled back and returned to his seat. Professor Lively said, "Now, all of you did very well against me, but only Mr. Potter and Miss Granger managed to disarm me. What did they do differently that caused them to achieve better results?"

"Well, Harry ran and hid," volunteered Seamus. The class laughed. 

Grinning, Professor Lively wrote on the chalkboard, "Strategies: 1. Run and Hide." The class laughed again. "Actually, this is often a very effective method of self-defence. Harry, why did you choose that particular strategy?"

Harry decided that "because it worked against Voldemort," though true, would not be the most provident of answers. Instead, he settled on another answer which also had the virtue of truth. "Because I could tell you were better than I was. You were too fast, and you weren't giving me time to cast any spells."

Professor Lively wrote, "2. Buy Yourself Time." Then she said, "When your opponent is faster than you are and you aren't getting the chance to cast a spell, find a way to break their rhythm in order to get yourself enough time to get a spell cast. What else?"

"Hermione tricked you," Ron observed.

"So she did," Professor Lively agreed. She wrote, "3. Use the Element of Surprise." Then she asked Ron, "How, exactly, did she trick me?"

"She made you think she was Confounded when she wasn't," he replied.

"Exactly," said Professor Lively. She wrote, "4. Pretend to Be Weaker Than You Are." Then she asked, "What else did Harry and Hermione do?"

Neville Longbottom raised a tentative hand. "Harry's really good at Blocking," he said. "Hermione, too."

Professor Lively wrote, "5. Know Your Defensive Spells" on the chalkboard and put a star beside it. "This is particularly important," she said. "If you can't Block well, you usually won't ever get a chance to cast any Offensive Spells. Anything else?" 

There was a pause as everyone tried to think of something else that Harry or Hermione had done. Hermione finally raised a hand. "Harry used a spell that was particularly tailored to him. Not everyone is a Parselmouth, so not everyone could have used '_Serpentosora'_ quite like he did."

Professor Lively nodded and wrote, "6. Play to Your Strengths" on the board and put a star beside it. "This is another very important one. This year, I want you to pay particular attention to your own strengths—and to your own weaknesses. You have to know what you're good at, what you do well, before you can put your talents to use." At that moment, the bell rang. Professor Lively smiled at them and said, "For next time, read the first chapter in the section on advanced self-defence. Class dismissed."

The class gathered their books and left for Care of Magical Creatures. The Ravenclaws were already there, gathered around the paddock where the Beauxbatons horses had been quartered last year. As the Gryffindors walked up to join them, they saw that the paddock was full of bird-cages. Each cage contained a small bird with blue, speckled feathers. The birds were regarding the students with silent wariness. Hagrid emerged from his cabin. "Hullo!" he greeted them cheerfully. "Sorry ter be a bi' late; had ter put away some things from las' class. So, who knows wha' these bird are?" As it so often did, Hermione's hand shot into the air. "Yes, Hermione?"

"They're Jobberknolls, aren't they?"

"Tha's right. Nice little critters. Quiet-like. What yeh're goin' ter do today is harvest their feathers. Perfesser Snape's runnin' low."

"Won't they sunburn without their feathers?" Hermione asked.

"I'll take 'em in ter my house after class and keep 'em there until they grow 'em back. They grow 'em back quick," Hagrid said reassuringly. "And then I'll set 'em free. They don' complain, but I know they don' like bein' caged up for too long. Anyhow, I don' think they'll try to bite when yeh pluck 'em—they're real gentle mos' o' the time—but yeh should probably wear yer dragonhide gloves jus' in case. An' then yeh jus' reach through the bars o' the cages an' pluck the feathers off 'em. Put the feathers in these bags. When yeh finish with one bird, put the cover on its cage an' go on to the next one. You oughtta have time to pluck abou' four birds apiece before the end o' class. As you pluck, we'll talk abou' their special properties." He made sure all of the students had a sack and ushered them into the paddock. 

Harry stood at his Jobberknoll's cage, and he and the bird looked at one another for a moment. When he wriggled his hand through the bars of the cage to catch the bird, it didn't move, and it didn't make a sound. Harry found this behaviour a bit strange; he knew that, if he had been in a cage and something twenty times his size was making a grab for him, he'd have at least complained a little. He held onto the Jobberknoll's feet and experimentally plucked a feather from its wing. The plucking didn't seem to hurt it, for it didn't flinch or struggle, so he continued his plucking. "Hagrid? Why are they so quiet?" he asked.

Hagrid explained that the Jobberknoll never made a sound until the moment before it died. As it prepared to expire, it would let out a long scream composed of every sound it had ever heard, but backwards. While the class plucked, Hagrid told them more facts about the Jobberknoll. It ate insects, in mostly lived in northern Europe and in North America, and it was classified as harmless and domesticable. Its feathers were used in Truth Potions and Memory Potions. At the mention of Potions, Harry shifted uneasily, remembering that Snape was awaiting him after lunch. He tried to put out of his mind the memories of Snape threatening him with Veritaserum, but he wasn't too successful. He did manage to smile at Hagrid as he handed over his bag of feathers at the end of class (he had plucked four bird himself, and he and Ron had plucked a fifth together). He, Ron, and Hermione promised to come and have tea with Hagrid on Friday afternoon, which they had free. Then they followed their classmates to the Great Hall for lunch.

They found three empty seats together at the Gryffindor table. Harry slid in next to Matthew and asked how his morning classes had been. "Charms was pretty good," he said. "Miss Delacour helped me hold my wand right—I was holding it too high up. But Potions wasn't so great. Josiah blew up a cauldron, and Professor Snape really yelled at him." He lowered his voice and said confidentially, "I think Professor Snape's mean." 

Harry hid his smile and replied, "I think so, too. The best thing to do is to try to avoid him. Just be quiet, and do your work, and don't do anything that will make him notice you."

"Is that what you do?" Matthew asked.

Harry sighed. "It's what I'd do if I could," he said. Matthew looked at him curiously, but Harry didn't feel like going into details. To change the subject, he said, "What do you have this afternoon?"

Matthew looked briefly disappointed that Harry wasn't going to say more about Snape, but he took the hint, and he was soon asking a million questions about Herbology and Transfiguration, his afternoon classes. He and Harry were interrupted by the late arrival of Ginny Weasley, who threw her knapsack down on the table with such force that all of the water goblets within a five-foot radius jumped. Everyone whose goblet had jumped looked at her. Most of the Gryffindors knew how to recognise an angry Weasley when they saw one, and most were wise enough to avoid them, so nearly everyone looked away again. Hermione asked—very bravely, in Harry's opinion—"Is everything alright, Ginny?"

Ginny took several deep breaths before saying, by way of answer, "You three are Prefects, so you should know: What, exactly, is the penalty if a student curses a teacher?"

"Expulsion, most likely, unless it was an accident," Hermione replied seriously.

Harry tried to keep a straight face as he added, "Although Dumbledore might make exceptions for extreme provocation." Hermione gave him a shocked look until Ron's shout of laughter made her realise that he was kidding. Then she shook her head. Harry smiled sympathetically across the table at Ginny. "Snape?" he asked.

"Who else?" She rolled her eyes. "I know I shouldn't let him bother me, but he's just so …." She appeared to be searching for a word bad enough to finish her sentence, and she finally settled on "… so … _Snape_!" She shook her head as though trying to shake away her irritation and continued. "Anyway, let's not talk about him. I don't even want to think about him. How's the new Defence teacher?"

Harry, Ron, and Hermione all rushed to praise Professor Lively. Harry and Hermione blushed at Ron's enthusiastic account of their successes in disarming the professor, and Ginny looked appropriately impressed. By the end of lunch, she had cheered up considerably. 

Harry, however, was plunged into gloom by the sound of the bell signifying the end of lunch. Ginny smiled encouragingly at the three of them as they rose from the table. "Don't worry," she said. "He has to have a finite amount of nastiness, and he used so much of it in our class that he can't have much left for yours."

Harry shook his head and grinned ruefully. "Don't I wish that were true," he said, and the trio set off for the dungeons.

Hermione liked to sit near the front of the room in every class, even Potions, but Harry and Ron overruled her today. They chose a table about midway between the front and the back—one near the wall closest to the door and farthest from the place where Malfoy usually sat. Hermione sat in the middle, assuring Ron that she could serve as a buffer for him if Snape started breathing fire at Harry. "Don't talk about him breathing fire," Ron had replied. "He might hear, and you don't want to give him ideas." 

Whatever witty retort Hermione intended was forestalled by Snape's arrival. He stalked into the room in his usual swirl of robes and glowers. The class immediately fell silent.

"The fifth-year curriculum begins with Healing Potions," he said without preamble. 

_Hello. Welcome back. How were your summers?_ Harry thought sarcastically. 

Snape continued, "And I hope that you won't manage to botch them as badly as most of you usually do." Then he snapped, "Potter!" 

His heart thudding, Harry answered, "Yes, sir?"

"Healing Potions require at least one of three ingredients. What are those ingredients?" He was already sneering, already preparing to heap withering scorn on the incorrect answer and probably to take House points as well.

Calmly, matter-of-factly, with no hint of triumph in his voice, Harry replied, "The first is chocolate. It's the most common, but it's only reliable for treating emotional trauma; it can't do much in the way of repairing physical damage. Second is Mandrake. That's mostly for reversing the effects of magical harm. Third is phoenix tears. Those are the strongest, but they're also hardest to get. Some potions substitute unicorn blood for the phoenix tears, but that's at least as hard to get if not harder, and it can't be used in draughts or other potions that have to be drunk or eaten—only in ones that get applied to the skin." Harry felt Hermione press his foot with hers under the table in silent congratulations. It was a textbook-perfect answer. That OWLs revision was coming in handy.

The sneer didn't move from Snape's face; if anything, it deepened. "Well, well. It appears that Precious Potter has decided to prepare for class for once. Maybe a year of doing something besides taking Bludgers to the head has done him some good." Several of the Slytherins tittered appreciatively, but Harry noticed that the three Prefects did not, and Queenie Greengrass even went so far as to roll her eyes. When the sniggers had died down, he continued, "Is this a fluke, Potter, or have you finally realised that even celebrities need to open their textbooks once in a while?'

Considering the things that Snape had said to him nearly every class meeting for the past four years, this wasn't so bad. It didn't even include a crack about his father. And, if not for the smug, predatory smirk on Snape's face, Harry might have let it go. But Snape was waiting. He actually expected Harry to answer him, to act like this obnoxious comment was worthy of a reply. He wasn't going to let Harry ignore it, as Harry could have done if the offender had been Malfoy or another student. He planned to make Harry respond. And Harry snapped. 

He slammed his palms onto the table, stood up, and unleashed the sort of tirade that three-quarters of the students to pass through Snape's classroom had dreamed of giving. "That does it," he said, in a voice cold with fury. "I'm leaving. And I'm not coming back until you're willing to try to teach me something. I'll learn Potions on my own if I have to. But I will not sit here and listen to your rubbish anymore. Voldemort's back; you know it, I know it, we all know it. And now that he's back, our lessons are more important than ever. You're supposed to be teaching us Healing Potions today. Do you have _any idea_ how important Healing Potions are going to be when they start attacking people again? You should; you've already lived through it once. But instead of teaching us, you're busy playing some stupid schoolboy power game. I'm sick of it, and I'm leaving, and I'm not coming back until you can _grow up_." With that, he turned on his heel and strode from the room, slamming the door behind him. 

The momentum of his rage carried him blindly through three corridors and up two flights of stairs. By the time he reached the third staircase, the anger was ebbing away, and he was beginning to shake. He sat down on the step just above the landing to catch his breath—and to figure out where he was. He looked at the portraits, many of whose inhabitants were looking at him a little fearfully, and took in the lines of the stairs and the directions of the hallways and determined that he was in the West Tower. But where to go from here?

He thought back to his resolutions. "Don't let Snape get to me" seemed a lost cause at this point. But "Go to Dumbledore" was still an option. It was probably, Harry thought, the best option open to him at the moment. He continued on up the stairs to the empty second-floor corridor that led to Dumbledore's entrance gargoyle. Within moments, he was knocking at the Headmaster's door.

"Ah, Harry! Come in. What can I do for you?" When Harry didn't answer, Dumbledore continued, "I wasn't really expecting you just now; you're normally in class during this time. Potions, isn't it?"

Harry sighed. "Yes, Potions. That's why I'm here. I, erm, I kind of yelled at Professor Snape and stormed out of class. He said something—it wasn't anything worse than usual, really, and I knew he was going to be gunning for me today, so I should have been ready for him, but it just hit me wrong, and I… I told him that I was leaving and that I wasn't coming back until he could, erm, grow up." Harry looked at Dumbledore to see how he was taking this; his moustache was twitching. "I know I shouldn't have done it; I shouldn't have lost my temper. Do you think I should go apologise?"

"Are you truly sorry?"

Harry thought about that for a moment. "I'm sorry that I lost my temper. I'm not sorry for _thinking_ that he needs to grow up, but I'm sorry for saying it out loud."

"Then you should tell him that. You might leave out the part about not being sorry for thinking that he should grow up, though." The Headmaster was smiling openly now. His smile faded, and his expression turned thoughtful. "Two of the things that you said, Harry, are very interesting to me. First, you said you knew that Professor Snape would be, ah, gunning for you today. Why would you think that?"

Harry squirmed in his seat. He had hoped not to have to tell Dumbledore about his altercation with Snape. But the Headmaster had asked, so Harry supposed he'd better answer. "We had a bit of a run-in on Friday night when Ron and I were trying to get in to tell you about my dream."

"Yes, I had wondered how you acquired the password; I'd meant to give it to you, but it slipped my mind when we spoke at the Feast. At any rate, what was the nature of your run-in?"

Harry recounted his conversation with Professor Snape. The Headmasters eyes flashed dangerously when Harry repeated Snape's comment to the effect that the things Harry had to say were seldom important, and, when Harry repeated his own comment about Crouch's death, Dumbledore looked very grave. Before he could say anything, Harry hastened to justify his words. "It wasn't a very nice thing to say, and normally I wouldn't have said it, but it was the only thing I could think of that might shock him enough to make him quit stalling and give me the password. I didn't have time to argue or explain; the Death Eaters were coming."

"I do not blame you, Harry." Dumbledore spoke with finality, and Harry breathed a sigh of relief. A few moments later, Dumbledore continued, "The second interesting thing you said is that what Professor Snape said to, ah, spark your anger 'wasn't anything worse than usual;' what sorts of things does he usually say?"

"Oh, just kind of run-of-the-mill snide comments—like his crack last night about thinking that everything I have to say is important when it's not. Always calling me 'Precious Potter,' always saying that I'm spoiled because I'm famous. Trying to make me look bad in front of the class, trying to make me mad so that he can punish me." Harry paused, then gave a mirthless snort of laughter. "Well, today it worked; he made me mad. I hope he's happy." 

Professor Dumbledore was looking very serious. "What's the worst thing that Professor Snape has ever said to you, Harry?"

Harry tried to think back; there were so many. To help narrow it down, he asked, "Just about me, or about my dad?"

"He says things to you about James?" Harry nodded. "How about one of each?"

"The worst thing about Dad…." Harry thought back, and he remembered the time in his third year when Malfoy had told Snape that Harry's head was in Hogsmeade. "I guess that was the last time I really lost it and yelled at him. I told him to shut up. He said something about how I was just like my dad, how Dad was arrogant, and how he used to 'strut around the place with his friends and admirers,' and thought that 'rules were for lesser mortals, not Quidditch Cup-winners,' and that his head was so swollen… and that's when I interrupted and yelled at him to shut up. And the worst thing about me…" This time, Harry didn't really have to think; this was an easy one. He stared idly at the wall, not really seeing, as he recounted the story to Dumbledore. "That would probably be when he read Rita Skeeter's article about Hermione out loud—the one that made it out like she was my girlfriend and was cheating on me with Krum—and then told us—'us' meaning Ron, Hermione, and me—told us that he needed to separate us and made me come sit by his desk. And he started in mostly with just his usual stuff—'All this press attention seems to have inflated your already overlarge head, Potter. You might be labouring under the delusion that the entire wizarding world is impressed with you.'" Harry knew that he was speaking in a mocking imitation of Snape's voice, but he couldn't help himself. "But then he went a little further than he usually does; that's why I remember it so clearly—because it was overboard even for him. He said, 'But I don't care how many times your picture appears in the papers. To me, Potter, you are nothing but a nasty little boy who considers rules to be beneath him.' And then he called me a 'pint-sized celebrity' and accused me of breaking into his office. When I denied it, he threatened me with Veritaserum."

"He threatened you with Veritaserum," Dumbledore repeated.

"Yeah. He said that the use of it was strictly controlled, but that his hand might _slip_ over my cup at dinner sometime." Harry shrugged. "Deep down, I knew he was bluffing, but it still shook me up a bit. Anyway, that's probably the worst." He looked at Professor Dumbledore. 

The Headmaster was chewing on his lower lip and looking very troubled. He waited for several moments, and then he asked, "Did you ever think about coming to talk with me about Professor Snape's behaviour?" There was no accusation in his tone, just curiosity.

"Not really," Harry replied. "I figured that you know how he acts to Gryffindors and that there wasn't really anything you could do about it, so why bother you?"

"Why did you come today?"

Harry grinned sheepishly. "Well, today, I took his bait. And I figured he'd come straight to you as soon as class was over and ask you to expel me, so I reckoned I'd better get here first and tell you my side of it."

"That was very prudent of you, Harry. You do know, though, don't you, that I would never take any kind of disciplinary action against you—or any other student—without hearing your side of the story?"

Harry nodded quickly. "Oh, yes, Professor. I know that. I know you'd be fair. But I still wanted to come talk to you now. I wanted to see if you think I should go apologise, and I wanted to check on that before Sna- Professor Snape had a chance to talk to you; I didn't want it to look like I was offering to apologise just to stay out of trouble."

"I understand. And, to answer your question, I think you should apologise, if that is what you wish to do. Would you like for me to accompany you?"

Harry thought for a minute; he wasn't sure. "I don't know. If you come with me, he might think I'm just apologising because you're making me do it. But, if you don't come and he gets nasty…. Could you maybe come and kind of listen outside the door? Then, if it sounds like it's going well, you can leave, and, if it sounds like it's not going so well, you can come in and, you know, take things in hand."

"That sounds like a good idea, Harry. Why don't we go now?" They both stood up to leave. "In the future, Harry, I want you to come to me if Professor Snape is treating you badly. Based on what you have shared with me today, I can see that his behaviour to you has been…." The Headmaster trailed off, looking disappointed and angry. He took a breath, and the anger disappeared, but the disappointment lingered. "At any rate, please let me know if you are having trouble with him; will you do that?"

"Yes, sir." Harry thought for a minute. "Professor Dumbledore? If you decide to talk to Sna- Professor Snape about how he's treated me, can you do it without making it sound like I came and snitched on him? I didn't mean to do that."

"I will take care to let him know that you have behaved honourably, Harry." Harry nodded his thanks. Dumbledore placed a hand on the doorknob and then stopped as though thinking of something. "Harry, are there other students that Professor Snape treats the way that he treats you?"

Harry nodded. "He's pretty nasty to Ron—mostly because Ron and I are friends, I think—and he's really awful to Hermione, but he's worst to Neville."

"To Mr. Longbottom." The Headmaster was now looking very troubled indeed.

"Yeah. Always calling him an idiot and trying to make him look bad in class. Next to me, Neville's his favorite target, and Neville seems to take it a lot harder than I do; he's really scared of Sna- Professor Snape."

"I see. I see." Dumbledore stared at the doorknob for a moment. Then he seemed to notice what he was doing, and he glanced back at Harry. "Ready, Mr. Potter?"

Harry nodded, Dumbledore opened the door, and the two set off through various halls and down several staircases to the dungeons. When they reached the door to the Potions classroom, they stopped. Dumbledore smiled encouragingly at Harry, who knocked tentatively at the door.

"Enter," came Snape's voice. Harry did. "Get out of here, Potter," Snape said as soon as he saw Harry.

"I came to apologise, sir," Harry said. "I shouldn't have lost my temper, and I'm very sorry for what I—"

"I said for you to get out, Potter; if I have to tell you again, you will be in even more trouble than you already are."

"Sorry to have bothered you, sir," Harry said, and he turned to leave. Professor Dumbledore was standing in the doorway.

"I need to speak with you, Severus," the Headmaster said, looking over Harry's head and into Snape's eyes.

"I am teaching at the moment, Headmaster."

"Only half a class, by the look of things," Professor Dumbledore observed. Harry looked into the classroom and saw that Dumbledore was right. Only the Slytherin side of the room had any students; the Gryffindors were all gone. Dumbledore stepped around Harry, laying a comforting hand briefly on his shoulder as he passed. He walked to Snape and said something to him very quietly. Then he took a step backward and stood a bit behind Snape, waiting.

"You are dismissed," Professor Snape said. When the Slytherins stared at him in confusion, he waved a hand in the direction of the door and repeated, "Dismissed." The remaining students began to gather their books to leave. Harry looked questioningly at Dumbledore, who nodded to him and indicated that he should leave. He hurried out, eager to be gone before Malfoy and his cronies had a chance to catch up. 

He wondered where his Housemates had gone, and he decided to check the Common Room first. He gave the password to the Fat Lady, and, as the portrait hole opened, he was met with a round of deafening applause. His classmates were there, all right, and so were the second-, fourth-, sixth-, and seventh-years, all of whom had a free period just after lunch while the fifth-years were in Potions. Fred and George hoisted Harry the rest of the way into the Common Room, and each of them gave him a bone-crushing hug. "Best things we've heard in years, mate!" Fred said.

"Wish we could've seen it," George added.

"First time I've ever wanted to be two years younger," Lee Jordan added. "So I could have been there."

When he had caught his breath, Harry asked, "Okay, what's up?" 

"You!" said Fred.

"Snape!" said George.

"'Grow up!'" they said in unison. The entire Common Room howled with laughter. 

Harry held up a hand for quiet. When the cheers had died down, he said, "I really shouldn't have said that."

The twins immediately began talking over one another in their attempts to dispute this statement. "Nonsense!"

"Foolishness!"

"Balderdash!"

"Poppycock!" 

When they had finished, Harry said, "No, really, I shouldn't have. I shouldn't have lost my temper. I've probably just made things worse. I went to apologise…" [During the pause for the collective "You _what_?!" from the entire population of the Common Room, Harry took the opportunity to fall into a chair next to Ron.] "…and he was even worse than usual. But Dumbledore was there, so he knows that I tried."

The Common Room clamoured to know why Dumbledore had been there. Harry explained that he had gone straight to Dumbledore's office for advice and that Dumbledore had agreed to accompany him when he went to apologise. Then, tiring of being the centre of attention, he asked, "What happened after I left?" He grinned. "Since you're all here, I can figure out that you left, too, but tell me how it went." 

The fifth-years all began to talk at once. Harry again held up a hand for quiet. "One at a time," he said. 

Parvati Patil said, "I'll tell it. Lavender and I were the last ones out, and we were at the back, so we saw it all." She paused theatrically, and everyone leaned in towards her. "Wait, set up the chairs like they were. We can act it out." Harry grinned and rolled his eyes at Parvati's flair for the dramatic as the other fifth-years hurried to re-arrange their chairs. When they were ready, Parvati began. 

"After you left, we all just kind of sat there and stared at one another. Snape didn't say a word—Dean, you go up to the front and be Snape until it's your turn, okay?" Dean obeyed, and she continued, "He just stood there. I think he was too shocked to say anything." Harry and his Housemates all laughed at Dean's comical "Snape in shock" expression. When the laughter died down, Parvati went on. "And then Ron and Hermione looked at each other…." She paused. Ron and Hermione looked at one another, then stood up in tandem and walked away from their "desks" and out the "door." "And they left. Just like that. And then Neville—Neville, you were wonderful, do it again so Harry can see. Wait, first, Dean, you do Snape."

Harry was internally cracking up at Parvati playing stage-manager, but he somehow managed to keep a straight face. Dean glared at the "class" and performed an uncanny imitation of Snape's trademark sneer. Everyone hooted. He said snidely, "How _touching_ that Precious Potter's fan club is willing to follow in his hallowed footsteps."

Neville stood up from his "desk," looked Dean/Snape right in the eye, and said, "Harry's right. You _do_ need to grow up." He followed the path that Ron and Hermione had taken."

"Okay, Dean, come back and be you again," Parvati directed. With a final sneer, Dean took his seat again, but not for long. "So then Dean and Seamus looked at each other…." Dean and Seamus, as narrated, glanced at one another, stood up, and followed the path of their classmates. "And then Lavender and I didn't even have to look at each other. We just left." Parvati and Lavender followed, hot on the heels of Dean and Seamus. "And that was it. We all came here." Harry and the surrounding students from other years applauded as at the end of a performance. The "actors" all took a bow and then returned to their seats. Parvati, looking very pleased with her directorial debut, finished with, "Well, all of us but Ron and Hermione; I don't know where they went."

Hermione supplied, "We went to look for you, Harry. We looked _everywhere_."

"Well, everywhere except Dumbledore's office, obviously," Ron said. "We tried Hagrid's hut, we tried the Quidditch Pitch…. Finally, we just came back here to wait; we reckoned you'd get here eventually."

"I wouldn't have gone outside the castle," Harry said. He looked steadily at his best friends, and he didn't say the words _I promised I wouldn't_ aloud, but, from the way that they smiled at him, he knew that they heard them anyway. To cover the meaning, he added, "I'd have gotten in even bigger trouble." It was a flimsy explanation of his words, but everyone seemed to buy it.

"So what do you for an encore?" George asked. His voice was as light and teasing as ever, but his eyes were serious. Harry had been wondering exactly that; what now? 

All eyes turned toward him, and he suddenly realised that his classmates were looking to him as a leader. Further, he realised that they always had. They had followed him. They had believed in him. He looked around the Common Room, and he thought, _I did this. I caused this._ For the first time, he felt the full weight of his responsibility, and that weight both elated and terrified him. _They let me get them into this, and they're trusting me to get them out. If I'll try to lead, they'll follow._

"Yeah, Harry. What now?" Dean asked.

Harry was surprised to find that he had an answer. He began to speak, and—another first for him—he noticed that people listened when he spoke. "I tried to apologise, and he threw me out, so I reckon means he doesn't want me in his class. Which is fine with me, as I don't especially _want_ to be in his class. So, if Dumbledore will let me, I'll do what I said I'd do: I'll study Potions on my own. I'll order a supply of the Potions ingredients that I need to prepare for the OWLs and get through the fifth-year course, and, during scheduled Potions class time, I'll come here to the Common Room, and I'll do Potions. If any of you want to join me, I'll order a supply of ingredients for you, too. I'll talk to Dumbledore tomorrow in the long break after Herbology and see if he'll let us."

"He will," Hermione said softly. "If it comes to that, he will."

"And we'll be here," Ron added. The other fifth-years murmured their assent.

Harry nodded once and then simply sat, feeling the energy in the room. It felt … weighty. Like a corner had been turned, like the decision that had just been made _mattered_. There was a charged silence that no one seemed to want to break. 

Finally, with obvious regret, Patrick Croaker spoke. "I suppose we should get on to class." By "we," he meant himself and his fellow sixth-years, who had the next Potions slot. The sixth-years began to gather their things, as did the second- and fourth-years, and the spell was broken, but Harry could tell that everyone had felt it—the connection, the mattering. Something had happened today, and he was going to have to think about it for a long time before he got it all figured out. 

The fifth-years had a break between Potions and Charms, so they didn't have a class to get to yet. When the others had left and they were alone in the Common Room, they simply sat for a bit, not quite sure what was supposed to happen next. Harry smiled uncertainly at Hermione and said, "Since we don't have any ingredients for today, could you, erm, tell us about Healing Potions?" 

His classmates all looked around at one another, shrugged, and picked up their quills, and Hermione began to lecture. They all took notes until it was time for Charms class.

*

Their first Charms class was, unsurprisingly, rather an anti-climax after the excitement of Potions, and the rest of the day proceeded uneventfully. Harry and his classmates were all somewhat quieter than usual; they tended to start a bit when spoken to as if their attention had been somewhere else.

In the Common Room that evening after dinner, Harry, Ron, and Hermione had their first real chance to discuss the events of the day, but, as they sat at their usual table, they didn't seem to know where to start. Harry knew that they all knew that something important had happened today, something larger than just a fight between a teacher and some students, but they hadn't quite processed it yet. Harry was strongly reminded of the time immediately after the Tri-Wizard Tournament, after Cedric's death and Voldemort's rebirth, when the three of them had sat here together in wordless understanding. 

Hermione suggested that they read the chapter for Defence tomorrow, but she didn't put up a fight when Ron objected that he'd never be able to concentrate. They sat and talked, in a slightly strained way, about inconsequential things. Finally, Ron challenged Hermione to a game of chess. She accepted, and they played and sparred—they always bickered when they played chess, but they seemed to enjoy it—while Harry watched and thought. 

Fred, George, and Ginny suddenly descended on their table. "Harry, we need a fourth for Exploding Snap," George said.

This had to be the lamest excuse Harry had ever heard; part of the fun of Exploding Snap was that it didn't have a fixed number of players. But he knew that the Weasleys were trying to keep him occupied, and he appreciated their efforts, so he pretended to forget that you didn't need four players. He, Ginny, and the twins played until time for bed.

*

The next morning at breakfast, just after the mail had been delivered, Dumbledore stood and clinked his knife against his goblet to get everyone's attention. All of the students looked at him curiously; morning announcements were not a usual occurrence. When he saw that he had their attention, he said, "I have an announcement to make. The Ministry has just informed us that Professor Snape has received a research grant to support the writing of a Potions textbook. As you can probably guess, writing a textbook takes time and concentration, and Professor Snape does not feel that he can balance all of his current duties with his writing. Therefore, though he will remain here at Hogwarts, he is stepping down as Potions Master, and he is scaling back his other duties. I will be teaching Potions classes until I can find a suitable replacement, and Professor Vector will join Professor Snape as Co-Head of Slytherin House. Please join me in congratulating Professor Snape and wishing him luck as he begins his writing."

Dumbledore began a round of applause. The other teachers quickly joined, but the students sat and goggled for a moment before they began, rather automatically, to clap as well. Harry glanced around the Hall at his fellow students. Most wore looks of total surprise—glad surprise for the Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs, and Ravenclaws and angry surprise for many of the Slytherins. Malfoy looked like he was about to be sick. Neville's expression of disbelief was slowly changing one of pure joy; he looked like he had forgotten his own birthday and someone had just reminded him by giving him a million Galleons as a present. Harry's own emotions had followed that same trajectory—surprise, then relieved happiness. However, for Harry, a third emotion followed the first two: a nagging hint of worry about his own role in these events. He recalled Dumbledore's reaction to their conversation the day before and the way that the Headmaster had looked as he instructed Snape to dismiss the class. Had he gotten Snape sacked? 

The curious glances of his fellow students told Harry that he wasn't the only one pondering this question. Malfoy kept looking daggers at Harry, and, when his eyes met Sylvia Fawcett's as his gaze swept over the Ravenclaw table, she gave him a huge grin and a thumbs-up and mouthed "My hero!" 

Harry ventured a glance at Snape. He was staring at his plate and not looking nearly as excited as someone who had just received a Ministry grant ought to look. "He doesn't look happy, does he?" Hermione observed, echoing Harry's thoughts.

"When does he ever look happy?" Ron wondered aloud. "Reckon we get to go back to Potions class after all, eh, Harry?"

Harry nodded, a slow grin spreading across his face. Potions with Dumbledore. Potions without Gryffindor getting points taken every three seconds for no reason at all. Potions without snide comments and unfairness. He couldn't quite imagine it. 

Hermione interrupted his reverie with a reminder that they needed to get to Herbology. They set off for the greenhouses with the rest of the Gryffindor fifth-years. As soon as they were out of the Great Hall, Parvati and Lavender, in unison, grabbed Harry and kissed him, one on each cheek. He and the other fifth-years gawped at them; this was odd behaviour even for them. "What was that for?" he said. 

"You got rid of Snape!" Parvati said, as if this were the most obvious thing in the world.

Harry shook his head, trying to disclaim responsibility. "I don't think so."

"Oh, come off it, Harry," said Seamus. "Do you really think it's just a coincidence that this Ministry grant thing came right after what happened yesterday?"

"It could be," Harry said uncomfortably. But Seamus was right; it did seem awfully convenient. His classmates cheerfully ignored this reply and continued to congratulate him. Finally, he said, "Well, if I did have anything to do with it, it wasn't just me; it was all of us."

"Yeah, but you were the … what's that thing in chemical reactions, Hermione?" Dean asked. "Seamus's dad's always on about them."

"Catalyst," she replied.

"Yeah, that's it. The catalyst." Harry had no idea what Dean was talking about, and he didn't have time to ask, for they had arrived at Greenhouse Three, and Professor Sprout was waiting. Harry shook his head to clear his thoughts and tried to concentrate on Herbology.

--

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More Author's Notes:

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If you want to see the part that the students don't hear about Snape's sudden job change, check out the outtake "Sacked!"

__

A note to Jenny Lim: You're right; Moody wouldn't *really* advocate killing two Stunned and disarmed wizards, even if they are Death Eaters intent on a spot of Muggle-murder. I meant for him to be at least half-kidding about wanting to kill Crabbe and Goyle—some of his act seems to me like deliberate self-parody, so he might exaggerate for effect just to keep up his image—but I probably didn't make the joke element clear enough.


	10. Eight of Cups

****

Disclaimer: All recognisable characters and situations belong to JRK. The information on Tarot reading comes from a very informative, (and almost never Trelawney-ish-sounding) website, www.learntarot.com, copyright Joan Bunning. No copyright infringement is intended. 

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Author Notes:

Thanks again to Yolanda, my ever-faithful beta-reader, and thanks to all the lovely people who have reviewed. I'm glad to hear that the Snape story line works for some of you [and that the others at least haven't given up on me completely yet. ;-) ] Particular thanks to SR1918, whose detailed and enthusiastic reviews really brightened my day. 

Chapter Ten: Eight of Cups

Tuesday and Wednesday were soon gone, and things were, for the most part, continuing as usual. Professor Sprout was still flighty, Professor Binns was still painfully boring, Professor Flitwick was still dithery, Professor McGonagall was still strict but fair, and Professor Lively was still, as Dean put it, cool. The Gryffindors, for the first time in recent memory, had been awaiting their Thursday morning Double Potions class with real excitement, and, when it finally rolled around, they all arrived early to class. Professor Dumbledore was already there, all smiles and twinkling eyes. He beamed benignly at them as they took their seats. The Slytherins trickled in, and Dumbledore beamed even more broadly and began to speak. "Professor Snape tells me that his Monday lecture covered the theoretical basis for the potion that you will be making today. Does everyone feel confident of their grasp on the theory, or are there questions before we begin?" 

Harry tried to remember the last time that Snape had bothered to ask if people understood the material that he had covered; he couldn't. No one raised a hand. Harry knew that Hermione's lecture on Healing Potions had been at least as informative as Snape's lecture would have been, so the Gryffindors, at least, ought to be prepared, and many of the Slytherins—Malfoy, for example—would have kissed a spider before letting on that there might be anything in the world that Dumbledore knew and they didn't. Since the more reasonable Slytherins were silent as well, Harry reckoned that Snape's lecture to them been enough to get them ready to go.

"Very well, then. Take a moment to look over the preparation instructions for the Black-and-Blue Potion on page 248 of your textbook. That is what you'll be preparing today." He paused, and they all took out their textbooks and read through the instructions. When they had all finished, Dumbledore asked, "Any questions?" There were none, so he sent them to the laboratory area to prepare their ingredients. 

Harry, Ron, and Hermione settled into a table near the front. Harry noticed that Malfoy hurried to claim the table next to them, and he frowned and rolled his eyes but resolved to ignore him. Pansy Parkinson and Tamerlaina Nott joined him, and Harry reflected briefly on how strange it was to see Malfoy without his two lackeys. 

Unfortunately, the absence of Crabbe and Goyle's threatening presences had not curbed Malfoy's malicious tongue. The students had barely settled into their places, and he was already off and running. "I hope we get a _real_ Potions master soon," he said, ostensibly to Pansy but obviously wanting Harry to overhear. "I doubt _he_ even knows which way to stir a potion."

Harry considered noting that Dumbledore had forgotten more potions than Malfoy would ever know, but he checked himself. They were ignoring Malfoy. They weren't rising to his bait. Harry tried to concentrate on chopping his bloodroot into thin, even slices.

"Father thinks it's disgraceful, the Headmaster taking a class," Malfoy continued. "_Real_ Headmasters don't teach. _Real_ Headmasters have more important things to do."

Harry began to chop his bloodroot with a little more force than was necessary. He noticed that Ron's knuckles were beginning to turn white from the force with which he was gripping his knife. Hermione, attempting to distract Harry and Ron from Malfoy, asked Seamus how his History of Magic essay was coming. 

"I'm actually liking this essay," Seamus replied. "My mam's great-great-uncle fought in that goblin uprising, and he used to tell her stories about it." The class was still studying goblin rebellions, this time Irish and Welsh ones. "Loads more interesting than that rubbish Binns is always on about. He could bore for England, that one." With a wicked grin, Seamus added, "Maybe you should try to get rid of Binns, Harry. Since it worked so well before."

Neville and Dean both snickered, and Harry tried not to grin. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the pink begin to creep into Malfoy's pointed face. "I don't know where you get these ridiculous ideas, Seamus," Harry said innocently. "_I_ didn't get that grant for Professor Snape." 

Seamus grinned conspiratorially and turned back to his workstation. "So, when are Quidditch try-outs?" he asked over his shoulder. 

Harry could tell that he was trying to sound casual, but it didn't work. He almost laughed at the way Ron's eyes were suddenly boring into the back of Seamus's head. "Next Wednesday afternoon after History of Magic," he replied. "But I think I heard the twins saying something about reserving the pitch for an unofficial practise on Saturday for people who are thinking about trying out."

"What position are you thinking about?" Ron asked in a voice whose casualness was even less convincing than Seamus's had been.

"Beater," Seamus said, and Ron breathed a quiet sigh of relief. "There are reserve spots open for Beaters, right, Harry?"

"Yeah. I think we're going to take lots of reserves this year," Harry replied. "We don't have any reserves, and we need some."

"Dean may try out, too," Seamus said. "Did you decide yet on Beater or Keeper?" he asked.

Dean shook his head, and Ron stiffened again. Harry shrugged, made an "uh-oh" face at Ron, and said, "Well, come to the practise on Saturday; maybe it'll help you decide."

Dean nodded, and Hermione asked what time the Saturday practise would be. "I think the twins were talking about booking the pitch for sometime in the morning," Harry answered. "Why?"

"Just making sure it wouldn't conflict with the Prefect meeting after dinner," she said.

"Oh, yeah. Nearly forgot. And we've got Prefect duty Sunday evening, right?" Ron said.

This conversation had, so far, succeeded in drowning out Malfoy, but now his drawling tones rang loudly enough for them to hear. "Speaking of being unfit for positions, this year's Prefects are a disgrace."

Harry rolled his eyes and shook his head at Ron, who opened his mouth as if to speak but closed it again when Harry caught his eye. Hermione slid her notebook over toward the boys. Harry glanced down at it and saw that she had written,_ Someone's jealous that he's not a Prefect_. He snickered and passed the notebook back.

Malfoy, his voice a bit louder, continued, "I don't see how Zabini and Greengrass stand it, having to work with those Mudbloods and Muggle-lovers." 

Harry felt the familiar rush of anger, and he reminded himself to stay calm. _What Malfoy says doesn't matter. Malfoy's an idiot. Malfoy's just trying to get a rise out of us. Deep, calming breaths. Visions of bouncing ferrets. Much better._ He glanced over at Ron, who was mouthing, "It's just a word. It's just a word," over and over to himself.

"Especially _that_ lot," Malfoy went on, jerking his head toward the table that Harry, Ron, and Hermione were sharing. "Miss Mudblood Know-it-all, The Boy Who Didn't Have the Sense to Snuff It Painlessly When He Had the Chance, and the Sixth Disgrace of the Wizarding World."

Harry put down his knife to assure that he wouldn't yield to the temptation to leap across the aisle and jam it into what passed for Malfoy's heart. Ron had quit muttering "It's just a word," and had changed his mantra to "He's not worth Azkaban." Hermione, who always took Malfoy in better stride than the boys, was calmly powdering her Moke scales.

"I know the Gryffindor fifth-years are a pathetic bunch, but _surely_ they could have done better than _that_," Malfoy continued. 

He probably would have kept on in this vein for some time, but Dumbledore, whose tread was even lighter than Snape's, materialised behind him. His stream of invective was interrupted with a calm, "Five points each to Gryffindor, Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, and Miss Granger, for your admirable self-control and maturity. Mr. Malfoy, you will speak respectfully of your fellow students, or you will be silent. If you wish to be allowed the privilege of doing Potions with the rest of your classmates instead of alone with me during a free period, those are your only choices. Very nice bloodroots, Miss Parkinson. Grind the Moke scale powder just a bit finer, and you should be ready to begin brewing." Professor Dumbledore crossed the aisle, made encouraging comments about their work to Harry, Ron, and Hermione, and continued his way around the classroom, praising and gently correcting as was needed. Malfoy settled into sullen silence, and the students finished preparing their ingredients and began the brewing process. Harry had added the bloodroot and was just beginning to weigh his knotgrass when the studious hush was broken by a cry of distress. The smoke and the encroaching puddle from the table in front of him informed him that Neville had melted another cauldron.

Professor Dumbledore hurried to the front of the laboratory area, where Neville was cringing beside his melted cauldron as though waiting for a blow. Professor Dumbledore observed placidly, "Your cauldron seems to have melted, Mr. Longbottom." Neville nodded, and his shoulders unhunched just a fraction. "Perhaps a slightly lower flame next time?" Dumbledore suggested. "Use one of the spares for today. When you replace that one, you might try a different brand; I'm told that Potsherd's cauldrons didn't perform well in the last trial by _Potions Quarterly_. Try Crocker's. They tend to stand the heat better." Dumbledore patted Neville reassuringly on the shoulder and continued on his path around the classroom. Neville breathed a sigh of relief at not being yelled at and went to collect one of the spare cauldrons.

Dumbledore stopped briefly at Malfoy's table. "Have you added the Moke scale powder yet, Mr. Malfoy?" he asked.

"Of course I haven't; can't you see the big pile of it right there?" Malfoy said spitefully.

"My eyes aren't what they once were," Dumbledore replied calmly. "However, they can still read a Potions formula, and I believe that this one says to stir clockwise until you add the Moke scales." Malfoy turned bright pink, and Harry and Ron smirked gleefully at one another. "Increase the flame just a bit, Miss Nott; it should be more of a gentle bubble than a simmer. Yes, that's perfect." Dumbledore returned to his circuit around the room, punctuating his walk with occasional comments. 

When the last Potion (Neville's, of course, since he had needed to start the brewing a second time) had turned from black to blue, Dumbledore added the last ingredient to each Potion himself. "Phoenix tears are too expensive for the school to require students to buy them, so we'll use the school stores for this," he said. After he had added a drop of Phoenix tears to each Potion, he asked, "Does anyone have a bruise at the moment?"

An event for the history books occurred: Neville Longbottom raised his hand in Potions class. "I do. On my arm, right here." He pushed up the sleeve of his robe so Dumbledore could see. "Ran into the table in the Great Hall yesterday," he explained.

"All right, Mr. Longbottom, for a bruise that size, you probably need about a fourth of beaker of your potion." Neville looked terrified at the thought of drinking a potion that he had brewed himself, but he carefully filled his beaker a quarter of the way, took a deep breath, and drank. He made a horrible face. "Yes, nasty-tasting stuff, isn't it?" said Dumbledore. "Here, have a sip of water. Give the potion about half a minute to start to take effect."

As the class watched, Neville's bruise began to shrink. Within a few minutes, it had vanished completely. The Gryffindors and about half of the Slytherins applauded. 

"Excellent work, Mr. Longbottom. Excellent. Five points for Gryffindor. The rest of you, bottle up your potions, label them with your name, and place them on the front desk as you leave. I'll test them for effectiveness, and then I'll take them up to Madame Pomfrey; with Quidditch season starting soon, she'll be needing a good supply." Dumbledore glanced at his watch and said, "It's a few minutes early, but you've finished the task for the day, so, after you clean your work stations, you are free to go. Nice work today, everyone." He beamed at them for a moment and then walked to the front desk to wait for their potions. 

The students cleaned theirworkstations, turned in their potions, and left the classroom. Malfoy swept off in a such a furious swirl of robes as was almost worthy of Snape. The instant Malfoy was out of sight, Ron leaned against the corridor wall and laughed until he was wheezing for breath. When he noticed Hermione looking at him curiously, he managed to gasp out, "_Who_ doesn't know which way to stir a potion?" 

"Yes, yes, it was rather priceless," said Hermione with a satisfied grin. "But hurry up and pull yourself together before you make us late." When Ron protested that they had a free period between Potions and Transfiguration, Hermione grabbed his hand and pulled him away from the wall. They stood for a moment, looking at one another. When Harry cleared his throat, they both turned red, and Hermione dropped Ron's hand. "Let's go," she said, and they set off to spend their free period in the library.

*

After lunch, Harry and Ron walked Hermione to her Arithmancy class, and then the two of them made their way to the top of the North Tower for Divination. As they settled into a pair of overstuffed chairs, Ron muttered, "If the miserable old bat is cold, why doesn't she put on a jumper instead of making the rest of us swelter?" Harry shrugged. Suddenly, Ron perked up as if he had just had an idea. "D'you reckon we could do one of those Cooling Charms that Hermione made us read about?" he asked.

"Trelawney might notice," Harry said uncertainly.

Ron snorted and waved a dismissive hand. "_She_ wouldn't notice if we all turned ourselves into icicles and hung from the ceiling." When Harry still didn't look convinced, he added, "We don't have to charm the whole room—just our chairs."

_Why not?_ Harry thought. "Yeah, let's try." 

The boys stood, drew their wands and pointed them at their chairs. Harry closed his eyes, thought about snow, and murmured, "_Frigio!_" and he heard Ron's voice join his. The chairs flickered and turned translucent, like ice, for a split-second. When their color returned and they looked like their normal, revoltingly-patterned selves, they were cool to the touch. 

"Cool!" said Dean.

"Literally," Seamus observed with a grin. Dean cuffed him good-naturedly on the arm. "What was that spell again?"

"_Frigio_," said Ron. "And you have to think about cold things as you're casting it, or it won't work."

Dean, Seamus, and Neville all cast Cooling Charms on their chairs. Lavender and Parvati looked deeply disapproving. "You'll disturb the clairvoyant vibrations!" Parvati chided.

The boys all rolled their eyes at one another and collapsed into their nicely-cooled chairs. Professor Trelawney drifted into the classroom in her characteristically dreamy way. "Good afternoon. It is nice to see you all looking so well," she said. With a meaningful glance at Harry, she added, "Although looks can be deceiving."

Harry sighed loudly. Professor Trelawney's habit of predicting Harry's death every five minutes had ceased to impress him long ago, and he found it even less amusing now that Voldemort was back in power and out for his blood. 

"Yeah. She doesn't _look_ like an Augurey, but she gives so many death predictions, she must be one," Ron said in an undertone, and Harry grinned. 

"Today, we will begin our study of the Cards," she said, as though making a fascinating revelation.

"My Inner Eye told me that when it saw _Finding Out What's In the Cards_ on our list of books this year," Ron murmured as Trelawney droned on about "the mysteries of the Tarot" and "facing up to the future." Harry bit the insides of his cheeks to keep from laughing. Ron's running commentary was the only thing that made this pointless class bearable. 

Finally, Trelawney ended her flights of fancy with, "I want you all to choose a partner and read one another's futures using the model on page three of _Finding Out What's In the Cards_. Face your futures, children, for they will come to pass, for good or ill." 

"Does she actually believe this rubbish?" Ron asked,as the boys consulted their textbook. Harry shrugged, and Ron shook his head resignedly, pulled out his new deck of Tarot cards, and placed it on the table between them. "Reckon we'd better get on with it." In a misty voice, he continued, "Ah, Harry, prepare to face your future." He shuffled the deck and peeked at the textbook. "Okay, now you cut." He passed the deck across to Harry, who cut the cards and handed them back. Ron, still looking at the textbooks, said, "This says to deal three cards, one for the past, one for the present, and one for the future." Ron dealt three cards from the top of the deck. "Let's see, in your past, you've got the Tower. In your present, you've got the Eight of Cups, and, in the future, you've got…."

He was interrupted by a crow from Professor Trelawney. "Death! Death, my dears!" She had appeared at their table just in time to announce Harry's Death card to the entire room. Harry sighed again and sank a bit lower in his seat. "I had better read these, dear," she said to Ron. "This hand is too much to be managed by a newcomer to the art of the Cards." Ron and Harry both glowered at her, but she pulled a chair up to their table and sat down between them. "The Tower," she intoned. "A fall from great heights. A crash. Slipping into bad fortune. The Eight of Cups. Weariness. Worry. The feeling that life has become too much to bear. And, finally, Death! I need not tell you what this means. A sad hand, my dear."

Ron, who had been ignoring Trelawney and flipping through the textbook, read aloud from the chapter on interpreting the cards of the Major Arcana, "'Expert Readers of the Cards agree that the Death card seldom, if ever, foretells actual, physical death, and no responsible Reader will interpret the Death card literally.'" 

Harry couldn't keep a snort of laughter from escaping, and he had to fake a coughing fit to cover it. Dean and Seamus seemed similarly afflicted. "Must be … the incense … getting to us," Seamus said, punctuating his statement with a few impressively realistic-sounding coughs. 

Professor Trelawney, who had puffed up like an angry cat at Ron's quoting of the textbook, broke off glaring at Ron to glare at Seamus. "Perhaps I should read _your_ cards, dear," she told him in a syrupy tone. Seamus and Dean shared a resigned glance, Neville looked worried, and Trelawney left Ron and Harry without a word.

"You are in _so_ much trouble," Harry told Ron with a grin.

Ron grinned back and just said, "Let's get on with that reading, shall we?" He consulted the book and said, "Now, in addition to all that rot that she was on about, this says that the Tower also means feeling like you're getting 'swept along by powerful forces that are beyond your control.' And that's your past card. The Eight of Cups, your present card, means seeking answers, beginning a journey, and moving on. And Death, your future card, can either mean transitions, cutting out some things, that powerful forces bit from the Tower, or endings, particularly conclusions of something unfinished. So, in the past, you felt like you were being moved along by things you couldn't control. And now, in the present, you're moving on from that. You're looking for answers and journeying toward something new. In the future, you'll be moving toward something unknown and taking care of unfinished business." 

Ron glanced up from the textbook and saw that Harry had been watching him with rapt attention. Both boys turned red, embarrassed to realise that they had been taking a Divination assignment seriously. "At least, that's what I get from this stuff," Ron muttered. "What do you think?"

"Much better than Trelawney's reading," Harry said, grinning. "Kind of disappointing, though … you didn't even have me falling off my broomstick or getting burned to death by a herd of fire crabs." They both laughed. 

Professor Trelawney shot them a dirty look. "You two would not be so lighthearted, my dears, if you had seen what I saw in my teacup this morning. What do you think it was?"

Ron answered matter-of-factly, "The hideous spectre of impending doom."

"It was the hideous spectre of impending …." Professor Trelawney trailed off and looked at Ron with admiration. "How did you know?" she asked.

"Must be those clairvoyant vibrations," Ron replied. Trelawney was still gazing at him in awe, so she couldn't see Seamus and Dean putting their heads down and pounding on the table in silent laughter. 

Professor Trelawney finally turned her attention back to Parvati and Lavender, and Harry and Ron were free to snicker. "'Clairvoyant vibrations?'" Harry repeated sceptically.

"And Lavender and Parvati thought we'd disturb them," said Ron in a tone of mock-disbelief. They snickered again. After a moment, Ron said, "I reckon you'd better do my reading now. I'd _hate_ to miss out on it."

"Oh, yeah." Harry took the deck, shuffled, and handed them to Ron to cut. When Ron passed them back, Harry dealt three cards. "Let's see, you've got the Ten of Pentacles, the Fool" (Here Ron made a sound of indignation, and Harry grinned apologetically.), "and the Three of Wands. "Ten of Pentacles, that's your past, and it means, erm, being conservative, focussing on safety and security." Harry looked up from the textbook and rolled his eyes. "That's you all over, Ron. All that safe, secure messing about with three-headed dogs and looking for the Chamber of Secrets." The boys snickered a bit more. "And, let's see, the Fool means 'entering a new stage.' Starting an adventure, 'expanding horizons,' moving toward the unknown. So I reckon you've stopped being that conservative bloke you were in the past, and now you're starting something new. And the Three of Wands also means unexplored territory and expanding horizons. Looks like loads of unexplored territory for you." Harry shrugged. "Anyway, there it is." Suddenly, Harry had a mischievous thought. "Wonder if Hermione's cards would have her going into unexplored territory and starting something new," he said casually.

Ron blushed furiously and muttered, "You know she doesn't believe in this rubbish. She's probably right, too. 'Expanding horizons,' my foot."

Relenting, Harry said, "It could mean you'll make the Quidditch team. That's starting something new."

Ron grinned. "Now, _that's_ a horizon I'd like to expand."

"Ah, horizons." Professor Trelawney had reappeared at their table. Harry quickly swept Ron's cards back into the deck before she had a chance to give some tragedy-filled reading of them. She looked mistily at Harry and continued, "Endings. The unknown. Poor dear, I wish _your_ horizon wasn't so near." She probably would have said more, but the bell rang, and she winced. "So noisy, that bell. It disturbs my Inner Eye."

"You _hear_ with your Inner Eye?" Ron asked. 

Professor Trelawney ignored him. "For tomorrow, I would like an essay explaining your reading and what it tells you about the ways that the Cards in the Deck relate to one another. Two scrolls, my dears. You are dismissed." 

Harry and Ron were the first two down the ladder and out of the stifling, reeking classroom. "Useless, that class," Ron said as they walked through the corridors to meet Hermione at the door of her Arithmancy class. 

"Reckon we could drop?" Harry asked. "We could talk to McGonagall about it; you know how much she hates Trelawney."

"Worth a try, I reckon," Ron replied.

"What's worth a try?" asked Hermione, who was waiting for them. As they strolled out to the greenhouses for Herbology, Harry and Ron filled her in on their idea.

*

After Herbology, the boys walked Hermione to the Common Room and headed to Professor McGonagall's classroom. Outside the door, they paused for a moment and glanced at one another. Each took a deep breath, and they stepped into the doorway, where Harry knocked on the frame to alert McGonagall to their presence.

Their Head of House looked up from her work, and, though she didn't smile, her characteristically stern expression softened a bit. "Come in, Potter, Weasley. What can I do for the two of you?" She gestured for them to sit, and they eased into a pair of desks near hers.

"We want to drop Divination," Harry said without preamble. McGonagall raised a quizzical eyebrow and asked, after a brief pause, why they wanted to do this. Harry replied, "Because it's a complete waste of time." McGonagall gave a strange-sounding cough that might have been a disguised laugh. Harry continued, "We need to be learning things, useful things. We need to be getting ready for a war. Instead, we're making up star charts and mucking about with Tarot cards and inhaling incense while Professor Trelawney thinks up new ways to predict my death. It's useless."

"And annoying," added Ron.

McGonagall's lips twitched when Ron added "and annoying," but her usual crisp demeanour returned quickly. "I sympathise with your concerns," she said. "However, I can't allow you to drop Divination unless we can find a different class for you to take instead. Fifth-years must have at least two electives. It would be very difficult for you to join a new class in which the other students have done two years of previous coursework that you have not done. You would be hopelessly behind."

Harry's heart sank. McGonagall was right; there was no way that he could catch up in something like Ancient Runes or Arithmancy, and they looked deadly dull anyway. "What about Muggle Studies?" he asked. "I grew up with Muggles, so I know that world."

Professor McGonagall looked thoughtful. "That could be a possibility. You'd have to work very hard to catch up, but it just might be manageable." She nodded briskly. "I'll have a word with Professor Smith and see what he says. I don't know what he has planned for the fifth-year curriculum, so I can't make any promises, but, if he thinks that you can manage, I will give my permission for you to make the change." She turned her attention to Ron. "What about you, Mr. Weasley?"

Ron shrugged. "I'd be lost in Muggle Studies," he said. "I can't even use a fellytone." Harry and McGonagall shared a smile.

"Hermione could tutor you in Arithmancy or Ancient Runes," Harry suggested. Ron looked thoughtful, and Harry could tell that he was weighing the excuse to spend time with Hermione against having to study such dry, difficult subjects. Finally, he said, "I don't think I could catch up. Not with studying for the O.W.L.s and with…." He trailed off, and Harry knew that he had nearly said "and with Quidditch" but had stopped for fear of causing himself bad luck.

"I will speak to the other professors, Mr. Weasley, and see if they have any ideas," said McGonagall, "but I would advise you not to get your hopes up. Now, Mr. Potter, do you still wish to drop Divination if Mr. Weasley cannot?"

Harry chewed his lip and thought. He really wanted out of Divination, but he didn't want to leave Ron high and dry. Ron interrupted his thoughts with, "Yes, he still wants to drop." Harry shot him a swift look, and Ron said lightly, "No need for both of us to suffer, is there?"

Harry smiled gratefully at his friend. Professor McGonagall assured them that she would speak with the other professors and would let them know her decision by the end of the evening. She sent them on their way, and the boys went to join their Housemates at dinner. 

The Great Hall rang with mealtime chatter as Harry and Ron made their way to the Gryffindor table. Hermione greeted them with, "We saved you seats." There was one seat next to Hermione and one, across the table, next to Ginny. Harry grinned knowingly at Ron and walked around the table to take the seat next to Ginny while Ron, his ears burning, dropped into the seat beside Hermione. "What did Professor McGonagall say?" she asked.

"She said she'd talk to the other professors and see what she can do, but we both have to find another class to take," Harry explained. While they ate, Harry kept a close eye on the staff table. Professor McGonagall, who had arrived just a few minutes after Harry and Ron, was talking across Professor Snape to Professor Smith, the Muggle Studies professor. She gestured toward the Gryffindor table, and Harry dropped his gaze back to his plate, not wanting to seem over-anxious. When he glanced back up, Professor Smith was smiling at him. He caught Harry's eye, winked, and turned his attention to the professor on his other side. Harry smiled to himself, considering the wink a good sign. 

A few minutes later, Professor McGonagall came to the Gryffindor table. "Mr. Potter, Professor Smith says that he will be happy to have you in his fifth-year Muggle Studies class," she said. "He would like to speak with you after dinner." Harry nodded, and she turned toward Ron. "Mr. Weasley, I have found a solution for you, but it's not ideal. The Gryffindor third-year double Ancient Runes class meets just before lunch on Fridays. Fifth-years have that period free. You could, if you wanted, join the third-year class. However, this would mean that you would not be able to take as many O.W.L.s as the rest of your classmates, and that would put you at a bit of a disadvantage. Before you make your decision, the Headmaster would like to speak with you. He'll see you in his office directly after you finish dinner." She nodded to the boys and left the Great Hall.

Ron goggled after her for a moment and then turned his wide-eyed gaze across the table to Harry. "Dumbledore wants to see me," he said, sounding a little disbelieving. He had never been summoned to Dumbledore's office. 

"Maybe he wants to talk Quidditch strategy," Harry joked. Ron chuckled, and he seemed a little less uneasy, but he did dart occasional glances toward the staff table. 

The boys bolted down the last of their puddings. When they were finished, they looked at one another uncertainly. They had agreed not to wander about the castle alone, but now they needed to go to different places. Hermione, sensing their confusion, took the situation in hand. "Ginny, you know where Professor Smith's office is, right?" she asked. Ginny nodded, and she said, "Can you show Harry the way, and wait for him while he talks to Professor Smith?" 

Harry studied the grain of the wood on the table so as not to have to meet Ginny's eye. It was a little embarrassing, having Ron's little sister know that his friends were keeping an eye on him. When he chanced a look at Ginny, he saw that she was neither laughing at him nor giving him some annoying "isn't-that-sweet?" look. She didn't seem to find anything odd about the fact that Harry's best friends were worried about him. She agreed to show Harry the way to Professor Smith's office, and Hermione said, "Good. I'll go with Ron to Dumbledore's office, and we'll meet back in the Common Room." The four of them rose, left the Great Hall, and went their separate ways.

Once Ron and Hermione were out of earshot, Ginny said, "Rather smooth of Hermione, wasn't it, to arrange it so she'd be with Ron."

Harry snickered. "Are they ever going to catch on?" he asked.

"Oh, Hermione's already caught on," she said, grinning. "But my brother has this problem: He's a boy. Genetically predisposed toward cluelessness."

Harry looked at her curiously. "How do you know about genetic predisposition?" he asked. "That's a weird thing for someone from a magical family to know."

"_I_ take Muggle Studies," she replied archly. "That's the classroom, by the way," she added, gesturing toward the room next door to the Arithmancy classroom. "Professor Smith's office is up these stairs, just a few doors down from the entrance to the Ravenclaw wing." When Harry looked baffled, she said, "Don't tell me you don't know where the Ravenclaw wing is." Harry shook his head, and Ginny said, in a mock-exasperated tone, "What _have_ you been doing with that map the twins gave you?"

Harry rolled his eyes ruefully. "Loaning it out to disguised Death Eaters," he said. At the sight of Ginny's stricken expression, he quickly switched the topic back to the Ravenclaw wing's location. "Besides, I never needed to use the Map to watch the Ravenclaws. I don't really know any of them. We never had a class with them until this year."

"Oh. We've always had Care of Magical Creatures with them, and there are some in my Muggle Studies class." 

She paused a bit awkwardly, and Harry felt even worse about his disguised Death Eater comment. To fill the silence, he asked, "Talking of the twins, d'you know if they booked the Quidditch pitch for Saturday?"

Ginny brightened in a way that reminded Harry strongly of Ron. "Yeah, they did. Ten o'clock to noon. Okay, this is Professor Smith's office. Want me to wait here in the corridor?"

Professor Smith's door opened before Harry could answer, and he beamed at Harry and Ginny. "Miss Weasley! Thank you for showing Mr. Potter the way. After I left dinner, I realised that he probably had no idea where my office is, and I should have stayed to show him. Sorry about that, Harry. Come in." His eyes flicked back and forth between Harry and Ginny, and he said, "You can come in, too, Ginny, if you want a preview of what you'll be studying next year." He escorted them into his office and gestured to a pair of squashy armchairs. "I was just making tea; would you like some?" Harry and Ginny accepted, and Professor Smith bustled away to deal with the whistling teakettle.

Harry watched him as he hurried about. Though he was young, probably about Bill Weasley's age, the Muggle clothes that he wore—corduroy pants, a turtleneck pullover, a cardigan sweater, and slippers—were the type favored by an older generation. Somehow, they made him seem even younger, like a boy dressed up in his father's clothes. A pair of reading glasses dangled from a chain around his neck, and his floppy brown hair was starting to need a trim. 

Professor Smith carried over a tray with three teacups, placed it on the table between Harry's armchair and Ginny's, took his own cup, and sat down across from them. "Well, then, Harry, I wanted you to come by so I could give you a thumbnail sketch of what we study in the third and fourth years, just so you know what kind of background your classmates will have, and to tell you about the reading assignment for tomorrow. I know you won't have the books yet, so I can lend you my spare copies, but you should look into getting your own copies as soon as you can. I have the Flourish and Blotts owl post catalogue around here somewhere; you can order all the books from them. I'll give you a copy of the syllabus, which includes a list of the books you need." Harry nodded, and he continued, "Third year, we talk about Muggle everyday life. We concentrate on the things that they use instead of magic. The final exam, just to give you an idea, had some matching questions—match the Muggle device with the magical spell or object that performs the same function—and then an essay about a typical day for Muggles. The essay was supposed to start with getting up in the morning and to talk about the different things that the person did during the day and the kind of devices that they used to do it. So most students started with the alarm clock ringing and went through cooking breakfast on an electric stove, driving a car to work, taking the post to the post office, shopping at the grocer's, and so forth, and they finished off with setting the alarm clock for the next day and turning out the electric lights to go to sleep.

"So that's third year. Fourth year, we do Muggle history. Ideally, I'd do it along with the History of Magic curriculum so that we're discussing what's going on in the Muggle world at the same time that a particular event is happening in the wizarding world, but, since Professor Binns never gets past goblin rebellions…." Professor Smith broke off to roll his eyes and shake his head. "At any rate, I usually end up teaching the magical history of the day myself and then comparing the Muggle history. We do a unit on the British Muggle government, and that's always a lot of fun; we hold elections and have Parliamentary debates and the like. Last year, the final for that consisted of some multiple-choice questions about dates and events and historical figures and then an essay discussing a Muggle historical event and a magical one that were taking place at the same time.

"And then there's fifth year. In fifth year, we do Muggle art and literature. We'll start with the Greeks and Romans and move up to modern literature and art. The reading for tomorrow is excerpts from _The Iliad_, which is by a Muggle poet named Homer. We're also reading a bit from _Bulfinch's Mythology_ so that you'll have some idea of what these Greek gods and goddesses have to do with anything. The page numbers are listed on the syllabus." Professor Smith paused and looked at Harry. "Do you have any questions?"

Harry thought for a moment and asked, "Who else is in the class? Just which Houses they're from, not the whole class register."

"Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws," Professor Smith replied. "You'll be the only Gryffindor, and there are no Slytherins. My class has never been popular Slytherins, for some reason. They all seem to want to do Runes or Arithmancy." He shrugged. "Any other questions?" Harry shook his head. "Then I'll get you the spare books, thesyllabus and that owl post catalogue, and I'll let you go so you can get started on the reading." He rose from his chair and walked across the room to a very cluttered desk covered with papers, books, and an odd mish-mash of magical objects and Muggle devices. He shuffled several stacks of paper, made a sound of triumph, and returned with the syllabus and the catalogue. "Here you go. I'll see you in class tomorrow. Do you know which room?"

Harry nodded. "Ginny pointed it out on the way," he said. Professor Smith bid them good night, and Ginny and Harry left his office. They took a brief detour for Ginny to point out the entrance to the Ravenclaw wing, and then they headed to the Gryffindor Common Room.

Ron and Hermione had already returned from Dumbledore's office, and they were waiting for Harry at their regular table. Hermione was hard at work on Arithmancy, and Ron was making designs with Tarot cards. "Sticking with Divination, then?" Harry asked.

Ron looked up from the cards. "Yeah. Dumbledore asked me to."

Hermione looked at Ron reproachfully. "Is that all you're going to tell them?" Ron flushed and ducked his head, and Hermione said, "Fine. I'll tell them." She added quietly, "Professor Dumbledore thinks Ron might be a Seer."

Harry and Ginny gaped at her. Ginny found her voice first and asked, "Aren't male Seers really rare?"

Hermione said that, according to Dumbledore, there were probably almost as many male Seers as female one but that the males never got to develop their talents. "Since most people think that only women can be Seers, they tend to overlook the signs in men, so the men never get trained," she explained.

"I tried to tell him it's rubbish, that I can't follow Trelawney's procedures and I make up my Divination homework every week, but he said … what was it, Hermione, it was something completely typical…."

"He said, 'Sometimes the way to the truth is not by the path that everyone else has taken. And sometimes things said in jest turn out to contain the greatest truths of all.'" Hermione reported.

"Yeah, that was it. Anyway, he said I'm not supposed to tell anyone—except you two, and Mum and Dad and my brothers, of course, if I want to. I think he's barmy, but I reckon I'd better stick with Divination if it's what he thinks I should do." Ron shrugged.

"I think it's great," Harry said. He was thrilled that Ron might finally have a chance do something that none of his brothers had already done. 

Ron flushed again to the tips of his ears, but he looked very pleased. Ginny patted him on the shoulder and then left to join her fourth-year friends. Harry settled into his seat to read for Muggle studies, and the rest of the evening passed quietly.

*

After helping Hagrid to free the Jobberknolls in Friday morning's Care of Magical Creatures class, Harry, Ron, and Hermione returned to the castle for their final classes of the week. Harry and Hermione reminded Ron to wait for them in the North Tower, where they would meet him after their classes, and sent him off with the rest of the Gryffindor fifth-years. Then they made their way to the first-floor corridor that housed their classrooms. Hermione smiled encouragingly at Harry and disappeared into the Arithmancy classroom, and Harry, for the first time in his Hogwarts career, entered a classroom that contained none of his Housemates.

Despite the strangeness of being the only Gryffindor in the room, the class went fairly well for Harry. His fellow students seemed happy for him to join them, and Professor Smith was clear, organised, and engaging. Harry was almost sorry when the end-of-class bell rang, interrupting a lively argument between Morag MacDougal, who thought Achilles was a bragging, grudge-holding whinger, and Justin Finch-Fletchley, who thought "the old boy had a right to be a bit teed off, don't you know." In the corridor, Hermione greeted him abstractedly, her mind apparently still on the last Arithmancy problem. She didn't seem to join him mentally until they arrived at the North Tower to collect Ron.

The Gryffindor fifth-years had no classes on Friday afternoons, so they were free until the three o'clock tea that they had arranged with Hagrid. Harry wanted to speak with Madam Hooch about replacing the school brooms, and Ron was eager to accompany him. Hermione begged off, promising that she and Ginny would meet them at Hagrid's hut, so the boys dropped her at the Common Room and made their way to the Quidditch pitch. Madam Hooch was flying on one of the school brooms. When she saw Harry and Ron, she landed beside them and placed the broomstick on the ground next to its fellows. 

"It lists to the right," she said. Pointing to the one beside it, she said, "And _that_ one lists to the left, and the tail on that one drags, and the twigs on that one have seen better days…." She trailed off with a sigh. "I can fix most of them, but the repair spells are having to be redone more and more often." She gave herself a little shake as and focussed her hawk-like eyes on Harry and Ron. "Anyway, what can I do for you two?"

"Actually, those brooms are why I'm here," Harry replied. "I'd like to replace them." Madam Hooch looked at him as though his head had suddenly turned into the Quaffle, and Harry wondered, for at least the dozenth time, whether his philanthropic impulse was such a good idea.

"You want to buy new brooms for you team?" she asked.

"Not just for the Gryffindor team," Harry answered. "I want to replace all of the school brooms."

"All twenty-two?" Madam Hooch said faintly. She was still gazing at Harry in wonderment.

"Yes. Or, if that's too much change, at least fourteen of them—enough for two teams to play a match on new brooms."

"Mr. Potter, that's very generous, but, really, we can make do…. You don't have to do this."

Harry shrugged. "I know I don't _have_ to, but I want to. I want to even things out a bit. It's really not fair that only teams with people who can afford to buy their own brooms have a fair shot at the Cup."

"You're certain about this?" He nodded vigourously, and Madam Hooch's eyes began to glint in a maniacal way that reminded Harry of Oliver Wood. "What kind of brooms are you considering?"

Harry explained that he had talked with several people about possibilities and had decided on a mix of brands. The new Cleansweep 8C was very popular with Beaters because of its extra-heavy construction. Last year's Comet 360 had been a complete redesign of the old 260 model, which had acquired a reputation among serious players as a style-over-substance broom. The new product was credited with much better performance than its predecessor and had become a favorite with Chasers. The new Nimbus 3000's easy handling made it the top choice among professional Keepers, and Seekers appreciated its speed. Harry had briefly considered getting two Firebolts as Seeker brooms, but he knew that the players in other positions would be jealous. Besides, most of the Firebolt's high-performance features were really unnecessary for school-level play, and he didn't want to look like he was throwing money around carelessly. 

"That sounds wonderful, Mr. Potter," Madam Hooch said. "Here is my suggestion—donate those brooms not as replacements, but as extras. I will see to it that they are only used for official Quidditch practises and matches. That will mean less wear and tear, and they'll last longer. Is that acceptable to you?"

Harry nodded, reckoning that she was right; the old school brooms, despite their quirks, were fine for first-year flying lessons and casual scratch games. "There's one other thing," he said apprehensively. "It's probably paranoid, but I was wondering if there's any way to charm brooms so that unauthorised people can't fly them." Madam Hooch and Ron both looked at him curiously, and he said, "I was reading in the Defence book this summer about a Death Eater attack on this little Russian wizarding village during Voldemort's last time in power. The attackers had stolen brooms from the local school's broom shed. I don't want that to be able to happen here."

Madam Hooch nodded gravely. "I will speak with Professor Flitwick and see what we can work out," she said. "I'm sure he can concoct something that will protect your brooms."

Harry smiled, feeling relieved. The thought of Lucius Malfoy stealing one of his new brooms and using it to attack people had nearly been enough to make him abandon his plans. Madam Hooch fetched an order form for Quality Quidditch Supplies for Harry, thanked him profusely, and prepared to return to her task of testing the school brooms. Harry and Ron offered to help, and soon both boys were swooping and diving. By the time they had finished testing the brooms and noting the difficulties of each one, it was time for tea with Hagrid. Madam Hooch sent them off with more thanks, and the boys made their way across the grounds to Hagrid's hut.

Hermione and Ginny were already waiting for them, along with Fred and George, whose appetites were such that they would even eat Hagrid's cooking. Hagrid was pouring tea into the huge mugs that he used. In addition to his usual tooth-breaking rock cakes, Hagrid had set out some small, surprisingly dainty-looking cakes frosted with white icing, each with a rather misshapen pink icing rose on its top. "Petty-fours," Hagrid explained. "Olympe taught me ter make 'em."

Harry and Ron exchanged knowing glances, and Hermione asked casually, "How is Madame Maxime?" 

"She's fine. We write every now an' again," Hagrid said. 

Harry couldn't tell, but he thought that Hagrid might be blushing beneath his beard. Taking pity on him, Harry asked, "Can you tell us now what the two of you were doing for Dumbledore this summer?"

Hagrid stroked his beard for a moment and finally said, "Reckon so. You'll prob'ly be findin' out soon enough as 'tis. But mind yer don' tell anyone. We went ter see the giants. Most of 'em who left Britain back durin' the firs' war with You-Know-Who are livin' in this 'uge colony in the mountains in Romania. We went ter see if they'd be willin' ter fight on our side this time."

"What did they say?" Hermione asked. All six of the students were leaning forward a little, waiting eagerly to hear the rest of Hagrid's story.

Hagrid sighed. "At firs', they wouldn' even talk ter us. Every mornin', I'd knock on their chief's door, an' every mornin', he'd look out 'is window, shake 'is 'ead, an' let the curtain fall back down. That's all we saw of him for the firs' month. We sat on 'is doorstep all day, an' we slept there all night, but 'e never came out. Giants went in, an' giants came out, but none of 'em ever spoke ter us. An' then, one mornin', I knocked, an' he came to the door an' asked us in. I don' know what changed 'is mind, and I knew better than ter ask. They don' like answerin' questions. Anyhow, we told 'im why we were there, an' we asked if he could 'elp us, an' he said he'd think on it. 'E told us a place where we could stay—we'd been sleepin' outside on 'is doorstep, remember—an' 'e said 'e'd send for us when 'e'd made 'is decision. We spent the next month livin' with the Giants in one o' their 'ouses. They were real nice ter us, but they wouldn' talk ter us about You-Know-Who or about comin' back ter Britain. At firs', we tried ter bring it up, but they'd always change the subject, so we gave up an' let it lie. Abou' three weeks before the end o' the summer, the chief sent for us. Told us 'e'd made 'is decision." Hagrid paused and sighed again. "'E said they wouldn' fight for us—not yet, anyways—an' that was a bit of a blow, but 'e also promised that they wouldn' fight for You-Know-Who, either. 'E said they were gonna try ter stay out of it this time if they could." Hagrid shrugged his massive shoulders. "Can't blame 'im, really. They got treated pretty bad, last time 'round. Yeah, a lot of 'em fought for You-Know-Who, but not all of 'em, and they all got treated like criminals, even the ones who hadn' done anythin'. Prob'ly seemed right at the time, but I reckon it wasn'. Reckon Dumbledore was the only one who saw that it wasn' right, but nobody'd listen to 'im when 'e said so. Great man, Dumbledore." Hagrid shrugged again. "Anyhow, that was my summer. Now tell me about your summers; I 'ope you 'ad more fun than I did."

Talking over one another, Harry, Hermione, and the Weasleys all rushed to detail the highlights of the summer. Harry, Ron, and Ginny told him about Quidditch, Hermione told him about their revision for the O.W.L.s, and the twins raved about their work on the joke shop. When they had drunk all the tea and talked themselves out, Hagrid sent them off with the leftover "petty-fours," and they returned to the castle for dinner. 

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More Author's Notes:

For folks who are interested in reading some Tarot-focussed stories written by someone who actually knows what she's talking about, check out Seldes Katne's "Fortunes Favor the Bold" and "Makers of Their Own Fortunes" (both available at The Sugar Quill). SK actually did the readings for those stories (as opposed to me, who fabricated the readings by checking the web site to see what the individual cards meant and then picking the ones I liked). 

It may be a while before the next update; my next chapter's being difficult, and my beta-reader's going on vacation. Just so you know.


	11. A Mostly Good Weekend

****

Disclaimer: All recognisable characters, locations, etc. belong to J. K. Rowling. I'm not making any money from this story.

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Author's Note:

Sorry for the delay on this chapter; I've been travelling. And I'm travelling for most of April, so Chapter 12 could be a while. Thanks again to Yolanda for the beta, and thanks to all of the folks who reviewed! 

Chapter Eleven: A Mostly Good Weekend

Harry, Ron, and Hermione were just about to enter the Great Hall for breakfast Saturday morning when a voice stopped them. "Hermy-own-ninny!" All three students turned to see a tall, slim young man hurrying towards them.

"Viktor!" Hermione exclaimed. "What are you doing here?" 

Viktor Krum, internationally-acclaimed Quidditch star and former Durmstrang Champion, came to a halt in front of the trio. "Hello," he said. He kissed Hermione's hand, causing both Ron and Hermione to turn red. Then he shook hands with Harry and Ron. "I vos hoping I vood see the three of you. Professor Dumbledore has asked me to assist vith your Potions classes, and I vonted to tell you about it in person before he announces it this evening at dinner." He smiled a little self-consciously. "So I suppose you vill all haff to call me 'Mr. Krum.' In class, that is. Outside class, you may all of course continue to call me 'Viktor.' And, on your own, you may call me votever you vish." His gaze flicked toward Ron, who flushed again. "At any rate, I am looking forvard to teaching you."

Ron and Hermione both seemed to be in shock, so Harry broke the silence that was threatening to turn awkward. "What about your team?" he asked. "You're not retiring to come teach us, are you?"

"No, no. I haff settled things vith my coach so that I am only required at team practices vonce a veek. Professor Dumbledore has arranged a Portkey to take me there and to the stadiums vere ve vill play the games." His dark eyes turned serious, and Harry knew that he was remembering the last Portkey that had affected the two of them. His mouth set grimly for a moment, and then he shook his head slightly as if to clear the memory. "So I vill be avay for some veekends. The season in Bulgaria stops during January and February because the veather is so bad, so I vill be in residence here… how do you say it… full-time during those months, and then I vill be gone for some veekends from March until the middle of May, ven the season ends."

"Will you be affiliated with any House?" Hermione asked, finally finding her voice.

"No. I vill be vot the American Quodpot players call a 'free agent.' No House affiliations, and thus, it is to be hoped, no House prejudices. I am thinking that your Headmaster is very concerned about those." Krum paused and then gestured toward the door. "But I am keeping you from your breakfast. My apologies. I should be getting to my meeting vith Professor Snape, but I vonted to say Hello." He nodded politely and turned to walk away.

On impulse, Harry stopped him with, "Viktor, our Quidditch team is having an unofficial pracitise today from ten to noon—kind of a preparation for the people who are planning to try out for the open spots. We'd, erm, we'd be really honoured if you'd stop by and watch. Maybe give us a few pointers."

Viktor smiled, one of his rare smiles that made him look younger. "I vood be delighted. I vill see you at ten o'clock on the Qvidditch pitch." He nodded again and set off down the corridor.

Harry looked at Ron and then at Hermione and saw that they were very carefully avoiding one anothers' eyes. He wasn't sure whether to laugh at them or to bang their heads together. He decided that, although either would be satisfying in its own way, neither would be the best of ideas, so he settled on saying, in an overly-bright tone intended to annoy them both, "So, ready for breakfast then?"

They both glared at his cheerfulness, just as he had known that they would, and they followed him into the Great Hall. When they arrived at the Gryffindor table, the current members of the Quidditch team called Harry over to discuss the format of the practise. He told them about inviting Krum to join them, and they were very pleased. They were even more pleased when Harry told them about the new broomsticks, and their excited whoops drew the attention of all the other tables. Harry implored them to quiet down, insisting that he didn't want people to make a big deal about the new brooms. His teammates waved off his protestations, contending that, if the Cleansweep 8C, the Comet 360, and the Nimbus 3000's weren't worth making a big deal about, then nothing was. After they had all calmed down a bit, Angelina said, "There's one other small matter that we need to discuss before Wednesday's try-outs: We need a Captain."

"Harry," Fred and George immediately supplied.

Harry held up his hands in a let's-not-be-hasty gesture. "I'm touched, really, but…."

"Then pipe down and say you'll do it," Fred ordered with a grin.

"At least hear me out first," Harry said. Before he would agree to be Captain, he needed to make sure that it was what the team really wanted. "Captain's a big honour, and I'm the youngest player on the team. The rest of you all deserve it more in terms of seniority, and most of you know the game better than I do. If any of you seventh-years want to be Captain, just say the word. I'll take it if you want me to, but I don't want anyone to feel like they got passed over." He paused. There was no answer. "Anybody?" he said. His teammates all shook their heads and grinned at him. Harry shrugged and grinned back. "Fine. I'll do it." When his teammates boisterous congratulations had died down, he added, "But you'll all have to help me a lot, okay? I've never designed plays before, so a lot of this will be new for me."

"It'll be new for all of us," Alicia observed. "Oliver was such a maniac about designing plays that none of us ever dared to interfere with his system, so we've never done any of that, either." Seeing Harry's worried expression, she added, "But don't worry, Harry; it's not like we're starting from scratch. We can keep practising the old plays—they've been working pretty well for us, after all—and then, after we're all up to speed on those, we'll worry about new ones."

That made Harry feel a little better. He privately resolved to write to Wood and ask to borrow the old playbooks; he hadn't always paid as much attention as he should when Oliver was discussing plays for the other positions, and, now that he was—he swallowed hard—Captain, he'd need to bone up a bit. "Okay," he said. "And I reckon I should talk to Madam Hooch about whatever else Captains need to know. I'll go over to the pitch a little early to do that." He glanced down the table and saw Ginny struggling valiantly to keep up a conversation with Ron and Hermione. "I'll see you there," he said, and he left his teammates to join his friends.

Sliding in next to Ron, he said brightly, "What have I missed?"

Ron and Hermione glowered at him, and Ginny grinned knowingly. "Nothing much," she said. "These two aren't very chatty this morning, for some reason." 

Ron and Hermione switched their glowers to her, and she gazed back at them with her most innocent expression. Ron roused himself from his silence to ask what the Quidditch team members had wanted. "Just to talk about the practise this morning," Harry said. "Oh, and they've chosen me for Captain."

Ron perked up visibly, and he, Hermione, and Ginny rushed to congratulate Harry. The conversation continued in a much more animated way, only turning awkward when Viktor Krum appeared at the staff table and Ron and Hermione both lapsed into silence again. Harry, intent on finding a distraction, decided that this was the perfect time to leave to talk to Madam Hooch, and he asked the other three if they wanted to come with him. Ginny quickly answered, "You two go ahead. Hermione and I need to talk about something, and I'm sure you two can find something to talk about on the way." She gave Harry a significant look. 

Harry felt utterly baffled, and he looked at Ginny in confusion. She cut her eyes toward Ron, then jerked her head in Hermione's direction. _Ron … Hermione …_ Suddenly, Harry felt like one of those characters in a Muggle cartoon who have light bulbs appear over their heads. He grinned at Ginny to show that he understood, and he and Ron left for the Quidditch pitch. Once they were out of the castle, Harry, deciding to try the direct approach, said casually, "So, are you going to avoid Hermione forever, or are you going to try to talk to her about the Krum thing?"

"What Krum thing?" Ron asked, his would-be innocent tone betrayed by his bright pink ears.

"Oh, just that he's here, and you're both completely panicked about it," Harry replied.

Ron scuffed at the ground with the toe of his trainer. "Reckon _she's_ not panicked about it. Reckon she's ruddy thrilled that her famous boyfriend Vicky is back so they can…."

Harry cut him off with, "Krum isn't her boyfriend. She doesn't even like him. Not like that."

"Why'd she go to the Ball with him, then?" Ron challenged.

"Because he asked her first," Harry said, as if this were the most obvious thing in the world. _Which it is_, he thought. "Look, just don't quit talking to her, okay? I hate it when you two aren't talking to each other." Ron gave him a strange look, and he added lightly, "Makes it plenty boring for me, trying to carry on a conversation with myself while you two sit and mope and give me one-word answers."

Ron had to grin at this too-accurate description of himself and Hermione during a non-speaking period. After a moment, he said quietly, "I see us sometimes. In the future. Hermione and me. And you, of course, but I think Hermione and I are, erm, together. And I'm not sure if I'm just seeing it or, you know, _Seeing_ it."

Harry didn't know what to say to that. Finally, he settled on, "Don't worry about Krum." Ron shrugged, but he looked like he felt a bit better. 

The boys were saved from any further forays into serious conversation by the emergence of Madam Hooch from the broomshed. Harry asked her what he needed to know about being Captain. She smiled and replied, "More than I can hope to tell you. All I can help you with is booking the pitch. And there's a Captain's meeting on Tuesday at 6:00." 

Harry promised he'd be there, and he went ahead and booked the pitch for three evening sessions each week plus Saturday mornings. Madam Hooch went back to the broomshed to prepare for the invasion of Gryffindor team members and hopefuls, leaving Harry and Ron alone. Harry walked to the middle of the Quidditch pitch and stood silently for a moment. He and Cedric had been taken from this very spot. He closed his eyes, and he could see the Tri-wizard Cup shining before him, could see Cedric's grin as he agreed to Harry's proposal that they take it together. On Tuesday, he'd be meeting with the new Hufflepuff Captain—and, if the rumours he'd heard were correct, with Cho. He took a long, unsteady breath and let it out slowly. Then, he realised that he had been standing in the middle of the Quidditch pitch with his eyes closed for longer than might be considered normal. He opened his eyes to find Ron standing beside him. "It was the right thing to do," Ron said. Harry must have looked surprised, for he explained unnecessarily, "Cedric. The Cup. You didn't mean him any harm, and, even though it turned out to be a bloody disaster, it was still the right thing to do."

Harry smiled a little shakily and said, "I thought you were a Seer, not a mind reader."

Ron grinned back and replied, "Multi-talented, that's me. C'mon, I think people are starting to turn up." 

The boys made their way to the stands, where, as Ron had noted, several of their Housemates were beginning to gather. By ten o'clock, there were twenty-five or thirty Gryffindors, not counting the current team members. They were milling about, talking nervously. Harry spoke briefly to Viktor Krum, who was sitting alone near the front of the group. Ron glowered reflexively at Krum, but then he seemed to catch himself, and he smiled at Krum a little apologetically. Harry saw Ron catch Hermione's eye, grin, and wave to her. She waved back, and Harry smiled to himself, glad that he had spoken to Ron. He surveyed the crowd and wondered if someone should start things moving. When Angelina caught his eye and gestured at the others, he realised that he was the "someone" in question. With a sense of unreality, he called, "May I have everyone's attention, please?"

After the crowd had quieted, Harry introduced himself and briefly explained the format of the practise: they would first divide into groups according to position, and then they would all reconvene for some brief matches. Harry collected the Reserve Seeker hopefuls and spent the next hour or so throwing golf balls and firing off Seeker's Scourges for Dennis Creevey, a fellow second year of his named Rachel Franklin, third-year Mary Wiggins, and first-year Rory Pontner.

At the end of the first hour, Harry called all of the players down. He divided everyone up into two sides, spreading the current players between the sides as evenly as he could and trying not to have all of the people hoping to play a particular position clustered on a side. Then, he explained the rules. Each side would field a team consisting of not more than one current Beater and one current Chaser. He, the current Seeker, would sit out. The rest of the team would be composed of students planning to try out. Every ten minutes, Harry would blow his whistle, and the players who were not current team members would switch out, allowing some of their fellow hopefuls to switch in. The two sides separated, conferred briefly amongst themselves, and sent forward their first teams. Harry blew his whistle, and play began.

During the third round of play, Dennis Creevey, playing for what Harry thought of as Fred and Angelina's team, caught the Snitch. While his teammates were busy cheering, Ginny Weasley and Katie Bell, Chasers for the opposing side, managed to score six goals against Sean Foster, their distracted fourth-year Keeper. In the fourth round, Elspeth Kingsley took a Bludger (hit by Seamus Finnigan) right in the stomach, but she still managed to score on second-year Keeper Natalie McDonald before doubling over in pain. In the fifth round, Dennis caught the Snitch again. This time, Foster kept his attention on his position, and Ginny and Katie only managed to score two goals against him during the celebration. In the sixth and final round, Mary Wiggins, of the George-and-Katie-and-Alicia team, caught the Snitch, and only a spectacular save by Ron kept their team from tying the score. Harry blew his whistle to end play, congratulated everyone on an excellent practise, and sent the hopefuls back to the castle for lunch. After managing toconvince Ron and Hermione that the current team members plus Viktor Krum were more than enough bodyguards to get him back to the castle safely, Harry rejoined his team to gather the balls and broomsticks and return them to the broom shed.

By the time the Gryffindor team made it back to the castle after their team conference, showers, and the general messing about that always happened when a Weasley twin was added to the mix, lunch was nearly over. Only a few students, Ron and Hermione among them, lingered in the Great Hall. Harry considered eating with his teammates, but then he had a better idea: They could go to the kitchens to visit Dobby. The house-elf would be thrilled to see Harry (and, more to the point, would be thrilled to feed him until he was ready to burst), and Hermione had been making noises all week about wanting to check on Winky. Harry suggested this plan to his friends, and they agreed with alacrity. Bidding his Quidditch teammates goodbye, Harry set off for the kitchens with Ron and Hermione in tow.

Dobby was, as expected, elated at that sight of Harry. He launched his small, stick-limbed body at Harry as soon as he saw him, shouting, "Harry Potter, sir! Harry Potter is coming to visit Dobby!" He threw his spindly arms around Harry's waist. After a few moments, he let go of Harry to launch himself at Ron with an excited, "And Harry Potter is bringing his Wheezy!" Ron, looking amused, patted Dobby on the head. Dobby greeted Hermione with a bit more restraint; Hermione's efforts to liberate the house-elves the year before hadn't met with much success, and Dobby's reluctant demeanour was nothing compared to the wary glances that the other elves were giving Hermione. Apparently wanting to distract his fellow elves, Dobby asked, "Would Harry Potter and his friends like tea?"

"Actually," Harry said, "I missed lunch, and I was wondering if you had any—" He hadn't finished his sentence before a swarm of elves was pushing him into a seat while another group brought tray after tray of food. Ron, so hungry from the Quidditch practise that he could eat a second lunch immediately after finishing the first, joined Harry at the table, and the house elves plied him with food as well. Hermione looked very disapproving, but she held her tongue. Once Harry had managed to convince the elves that he really didn't need more food and that he didn't want to keep them from their work, Dobby and the trio were left alone. Harry asked Dobby how he had been.

"Dobby has nothing to complain of, sir. Dobby loves Hogwarts, and Professor Dumbledore is the best employer in the world. Dobby is very happy, sir." Dobby bounced up and down in his seat, his usual excited energy underscoring his words. 

"And how is Winky?" Hermione asked.

Dobby stopped bouncing and looked very grave. "Winky is a bit better, Miss, but she is still very unhappy. She is missing her Mr. Crouch. She is wanting to go home."

"But Mr. Crouch is, well, dead," Ron said. "Even if she went home, he wouldn't be there anymore."

Dobby nodded. "Dobby is knowing, sir. And Winky is knowing. But she is still missing him." Dobby shook his head slowly, and his bat-like ears flopped. "Dobby cannot understand. Dobby likes being free. Dobby likes being rid of his bad, bad family. But Winky is not liking being free."

Harry's glance fell on the dirty dishes accumulating on the table, and they reminded him of a different table, filled with people and laughter and family. "Dobby," he asked, "after a house elf has been freed, can she ever be, well, un-freed? I mean, if Winky went to work for a new family, would she still be a free elf?"

Dobby cocked his head and appeared to think for a moment. "It is not so simple, Harry Potter, sir. Once an elf is being freed, they is free forever, but, if they is finding a new master, then no one is having to know that they is free."

"So, if Winky found a new master and the new master said that she didn't have to, say, wear clothes, then she could go back to wearing a tea towel?" Harry asked.

Dobby nodded. "When Winky and Dobby is first coming to Hogwarts, Professor Dumbledore is telling Winky that she is not having to wear the clothes if she is not wanting to, but Winky is saying that she must be wearing them because her master is saying so. She is not believing that Dumbledore is her master now."

"Dobby, can you bring Winky to us? I want to talk to her for a minute." Harry watched as Dobby trotted off to the depths of the kitchen.

"What are you doing, Harry?" Hermione asked. 

"Trying to find Winky a new master," Harry said.

Hermione looked scandalised. "Harry! Once she figures out that she's better off being free—"

"She's not better off being free," Harry cut in. "She's miserable. _Dobby's_ better off being free, but Winky's not." Hermione opened her mouth to argue, but Dobby arrived, leading Winky by the hand. 

Winky still wore the same skirt and blouse, now even dirtier and more faded, but she was standing with ease, and her eyes were clear instead of blurry, so Harry reckoned she had cut back on the Butterbeer. She returned Harry's greeting politely, and she only hesitated for a moment before taking the seat beside him when he offered it. But, when he asked how she was doing, her brown eyes filled with tears. "Winky is missing her family, Harry Potter," she said. "But Winky's family is gone, and she can never be seeing them again." She sniffled, then blew her nose loudly into the sleeve of her blouse.

Before Winky could begin sobbing in earnest, Harry asked, "Winky, would you be happier with a family than at Hogwarts?" She looked up, interested. "I know nobody can replace Mr. Crouch," Harry continued, prudently refraining from adding _thank goodness_ to this observation, "but I know a very nice family who'd love to have a house-elf." When she didn't immediately object, Harry turned to Ron and said, "Hasn't your mum always said that she'd really like to have a house-elf?"  
At first, Ron looked startled, but he recovered quickly. "Erm, yeah. Yeah, she has, actually. All we have is a ghoul in the attic, and it's useless."

"Ron's family has this big house, and there's lots of work to be done in it," Harry said. "There are chickens to look after, and a garden with lots of gnomes who have to be chased out all the time, and all sorts of things." Remembering Winky's insistence last year that it wasn't just housework that Mr. Crouch needed her for, Harry added, "And the Weasleys would have to have a really trustworthy elf, one who could keep secrets for them. Mr. Weasley works for the Ministry, so he has important secrets." He glanced across the table at Ron, who was laughing silently into his goblet. When Winky glanced at Ron, though he still hid most of his face behind the goblet, he nodded vigorously. Winky, Harry could see, was softening. He decided to add what he hoped would be the decider. "There's just one thing, though. Mrs. Weasley wouldn't want her house-elf to wear clothes. She'd want you to wear a nice, erm, respectable tea towel." Ron dropped his fork on the floor, and Harry knew that he had only done it so that he could crawl under the table to hide his laughter. Harry agreed—the idea of a tea towel being more "respectable" than clothes was utterly barmy—but house-elves' minds worked in strange ways. 

"Winky not have to be wearing the clothes?" she asked.

In as serious a tone as he could manage, Harry answered, "I don't think Mrs. Weasley would allow it." He could feel Ron pounding on the floor with his fist, and Harry had no doubt that his friend was guffawing silently as well. He nudged Ron gently with his foot in hopes of calming him down.

"And Mrs. Weasley will not be minding that Winky has been a bad, bad elf and is getting herself sacked?" Winky asked. Harry could feel Hermione boiling beside him, but she somehow managed to keep silent as Harry answered that Mrs. Weasley wouldn't mind at all. Winky looked thoughtful for a moment and then said, "Will sir be asking Mrs. Weasley if she is wanting Winky to come?" Harry nodded. "If she is wanting Winky, then Winky will go. Winky would be very pleased." 

"Great," Harry said. "Ron can write to her tonight." He kicked Ron again, a bit harder this time. 

Ron emerged from under the table, looking extremely composed. "Yeah, I'll write tonight and ask her," he said, adding, "I'm sure she'll say yes."

Winky looked happier than Harry had seen her in a very long time, and Harry was glad. Winky had really been through it last year, and it was time she got a little bit of happiness. In addition, the Weasleys could really use the help, especially during summer holidays, when the Burrow was filled to the bursting point with the children and their friends. Harry and his friends bid Winky and Dobby good-bye, promising to return soon with news of Mrs. Weasley's reply.

Once they were out of the kitchens, a chuckling Ron turned to Harry and said, "I thought I was going to explode, listening to you go on about nice, respectable tea towels. Funniest thing I ever heard."

Harry grinned. "I know, I know. But worked, didn't it?"

"Mum'll be over the moon. She's always wanted a house-elf. Bloody brilliant of you, Harry." Ron cast a sly look at Hermione, who hadn't said a word since Winky had arrived at their table, and said, "Wasn't that a good idea of Harry's, Hermione?"

Hermione sighed. "I still think it's completely unfair that house-elves get treated like second-class Beings. But I suppose you're right, Harry; Winky will be happier with a family. She just can't grasp the idea of any other way." Hermione suddenly stopped, apparently struck by an idea. "That's the key. We can't just go in and force them to be free. We have to teach them first. Educate them. Show them that there's more to life than taking orders. I'll have to think about it."

"Great. You think about it. Harry and I will think about a chess game," Ron said as they arrived at the portrait hole. "Mooncalf milk," he said to the Fat Lady, and the three of them clambered into the Common Room. Ron went to get his chess set, and he and Harry played until time for dinner.

At dinner, just before the food appeared, Professor Dumbledore stood to make an announcement. "May I have your attention, please?" The Hall fell silent, and Dumbledore smiled at them. "I am pleased to announce the arrival of our new Potions Master." He gestured to a small, wizened man who was one of the oldest wizards Harry had ever seen. "Please join me in welcoming Professor Jigger."

The students applauded politely, and Hermione leaned across the table to whisper excitedly, "That's Arsineus Jigger, who wrote our textbook! He's supposed to know more about Potions than anybody in the world. He invented the Wolfsbane Potion…." Harry was sure that Hermione could have continued listing Jigger's accomplishments for hours on end, but the applause had finished, and she hushed.

"I am also pleased to present Professor Jigger's assistant, who has kindly consented to take time from his busy Quidditch season to come and help us. Please join me in welcoming Mr. Krum." The applause for Krum was much louder, and Harry grinned, amused that his classmates were more impressed by a professional Quidditch player than by the world's top Potions expert. Ron, he noticed, had clapped for Krum without even a glare from Hermione. Perhaps Ron was going to take Harry's advice and not worry about Krum too much. Harry hoped so. 

Dumbledore sat down, and the Hall buzzed with talk again. Hermione spent the rest of the meal singing Jigger's praises. Harry, half-amused and half-exasperated at Hermione's mania for all things scholastic, was almost relieved when Dennis Creevey came bouncing up to ask for Quidditch advice. He spent the rest of the meal talking to Dennis, who, for once, listened raptly instead of interrupting with questions every two seconds. Then he and his friends returned to the Common Room, where they joined the sixth- and seventh-year Prefects in the far corner for their first meeting.

Prefects were required to meet twice per month, once with their Houses and once with their years, but these "meetings" were seldom formal enough to deserve the name. Harry, Ron, and Hermione learned this quickly when, upon their arrival, Lucy Berlin asked, apropos of absolutely nothing, what Quidditch team the fifth-years reckoned Professor Flitwick supported. When they responded with complete bafflement, she explained, "We have to do something to pass the time in these meetings, so Judith and I decided to try to figure out what team all of the Professors like. We decided Snape _has_ to like the Falcons—"

"You and Lee decided Snape has to like the Falcons," interrupted Patrick Croaker. "Patrick, they're the nastiest team in the league, and all their players are foul-tempered thugs. He'd love them," Lucy replied.

"Yes, but they aren't subtle enough for him. They always get caught. He wouldn't support a team that isn't devious enough to get away with their fouls," Patrick argued. 

"I think he'd overlook a bit of Bludger-happy play if it's in the service of good, old-fashioned bullying," Lee countered. 

The meeting continued in this vein for at least twenty minutes. By the end, they had come to no decision on Snape—one side clung fast to the Falcons suggestion, another favored Patrick's "more subtly intimidating" Wigtown Wanderers, and Rajeev Prasad, a quiet seventh-year, reduced the group to hysterics with the casual observation that Snape might support the Bats, as he was a dead ringer for Barney the Fruitbat, their mascot—but they had settled on the Kestrels for Flitwick, deciding that their leprechauns would amuse him. After they had come to this agreement, Angelina glanced at her wristwatch and said, "I suppose we should move on to business. Let's see: Nobody's lost an excessive number of House points, so we don't have to take anyone aside for the "honour of Gryffindor" speech. No new announcements from the Professors. No reports of homesickness from the first-years. Rajeev and Lee and I found a couple kissing in an empty classroom when we were on Prefect duty, but we didn't take House points since they were both Professors." Her fellow Prefects made such loud exclamations that several of the other students turned their heads to see what was happening, and Angelina grinned wickedly. "Just threw that in there to make sure you were listening. Oh, speaking of Prefect duty, you fifth-years have your first one tomorrow after dinner, right? Here's what you need to know: When you're making your rounds, stay away from Filch's office. He takes House points off anyone who sees him without his false teeth in. If you catch anyone where they aren't supposed to be, send them back to their Common Room, and use your judgment on whether to do anything else. If you want to speak to their Head of House or one of the Prefects in their House, go ahead. If you don't think it's necessary, don't bother. Same for taking House points. Any questions? Good. Then we're finished here."

As the Prefects rose to disperse, Lucy Berlin added, "Next time, be prepared to discuss McGonagall's Quidditch team." 

As Harry, Ron, and Hermione settled down at their usual table, Harry noticed Ron shaking his head. "What?" he asked.

"Just thinking about Percy," Ron said. "All that time, he made being a Prefect sound like such a big deal, when really it's just sitting around figuring out McGonagall's Quidditch team."

"Ron! That's not all there is to being a Prefect," Hermione protested. "I'm sure there will be weeks when we have important things to discuss."

Ron grinned across the table at Harry, and Harry wondered whether his friend had made his observation about Percy for the sole purpose of getting a rise out of Hermione or if that was just a fortuitous side-effect. Hermione, seeing Ron's grin, realised that she had taken his bait, and she immediately changed the subject by suggesting that they do some homework. When Ron objected that it was Saturday night, Hermione noted that, since they had Prefect duty after dinner, they needed to get a head start. "After all," she finished, "we wouldn't want to set a bad example by putting it all off until the last minute." Ron banged his head on the table at this mention of setting a bad example; when he finished, Hermione smiled sweetly at him. "I'll just go get my Potions book and meet you two back down here in a five minutes," she said, as if the matter were already resolved—which, if the truth were told, it was. Harry and Ron, marvelling at Hermione's ability to overmaster them, went to fetch their textbooks.

*

After lunch on Sunday, when the Gryffindors were settled in the Common Room, Hermione rose to make an announcement. "Justin Finch-Fletchley asked me to meet him and some of the other Hufflepuffs to study for the Herbology O.W.L., and I'm going to the Great Hall to do that in about half an hour. Any fifth-years who want to join us are welcome to come." 

When she sat down again, Ron glowered at her. "Were you planning on telling us about this study session?" he asked.

"I just did," she answered serenely.

"Half an hour beforehand?"

"Well, I didn't want you to have time to come up with an excuse, did I?" was Hermione's reasonable reply.

Harry had to grin; Hermione knew them too well. She and Ron were facing off, each trying not to smile before the other did. Ron cracked first, and Hermione smiled back triumphantly. Harry caught Ginny's eye and nodded toward his two friends, who were still smiling at one another. Ginny shook her head in amusement and returned to her work. Harry, to break his friends' reverie, asked, "Are you planning to make a move any time soon, Ron?" 

Ron looked startled, then realised that Harry was talking about their chess game. He and Hermione both flushed; she returned to her book, and Ron proceeded to pick off Harry's loudly-protesting bishop. Harry managed to keep the game going a bit longer than usual—his practise this summer had helped a little—but Ron still had his king in checkmate in plenty of time for them to leave early for Hermione's study session.

When the trio rose to leave for the Great Hall, the rest of their fifth-year Housemates rose, too, and Harry had to smile. Ever since The Walkout (as Fred and George had taken to calling the Potions class imbroglio), the Gryffindor fifth-years seemed to have become a bit more tightly-knit. When their group arrived in the Great Hall, most of the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw fifth-years were already there. Justin smiled apologetically when Hermione raised an eyebrow at the size of the crowd. He explained, "I mentioned to Kevin in Potions class on Friday that we were meeting today, and I suppose the word must have spread. I hope you don't mind. I should have asked first—dashed rude of me—but I didn't expect so many people to be interested."

Hermione waved away his apology. "The more the merrier," she said. Fixing the group with a McGonagall-worthy stare, she added, "So long as everyone here plans to take this session seriously…."

The Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws immediately put on their most studious expressions, and the Gryffindors all tried to hide their amusement. Harry and Ron ducked behind Dean and Seamus so that they could laugh at Hermione's no-nonsense act without feeling her wrath. Once they managed to calm down, they settled in at the table with their fellow students. Hermione asked how many in the group had a copy of _How To Survive the O.W.L.s While Still Managing to Eat and Sleep at Least Five Days Out of Seven_; all of the Ravenclaws had it, and about half of the Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors. There was a bit of seat-swapping as students who didn't have the book shuffled about to sit next to someone who did have it. Once everyone was settled into the right seat, Hermione had them turn to Chapter Seven, "Everything You Never Wanted to Know about Magical PlantsBut That the Test Will Ask," and they all worked through the chapter together. 

Neville, who excelled in Herbology despite his difficulties in some other classes, got into a dispute with Hannah Abbott about whether Mandrakes grew better with lots of water once a day or with less water twice a day, and Hermione sent them to the library to look up the answer. (Harry suspected that Hermione already knew the answer, but he knew that she was a firm believer in the precept "You'll remember it better if you look it up yourself.") When Neville and Hannah returned with _Don't Drown Them, But For Merlin's Sake Don't Let Them Shrivel, Either—A Guide to the Care of Magical Plants_, they were accompanied by Queenie Greengrass. She explained that she and some of her Housemates were doing O.W.L.s revision in the library, and she asked if they could join the other Houses. Hermione agreed—to the obvious surprise of the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs; the Gryffindor/Slytherin rivalry was notorious—and Queenie returned a few moments later with her fellow Prefects, Blaise and Tracey, plus Crabbe, Goyle, and Millicent Bulstrode. Harry tensed at the presence of these last three, remembering the run-in between Millicent and Hermione at the first (and last) meeting of the Duelling Club in their second year, but Hermione didn't seem to mind them, and the new arrivals settled in to work. After Hermione had to threaten to send Crabbe out for flicking paperwads at Neville, the session continued peacefully, and, before dispersing to their separate House tables for dinner, the group agreed to meet again the following week to work on Charms. 

As they settled into their seats at the Gryffindor table, Ron expressed his amazement that Crabbe had stopped flicking paper wads when Hermione had told him to. Hermione replied, "I don't think I was the one he was obeying; I think it was Blaise. I couldn't see for certain, but I think Blaise's wand was out."

"Holding your idiot Housemates at wandpoint—now _that's_ what I call setting a good example," Ron declared. Hermione sniffed disapprovingly, but Harry saw her hide a grin. 

"I was surprised Crabbe and Goyle came at all," Harry remarked.

Hermione sniffed again. "They're followers, aren't they? It's all they know how to do. Now that Malfoy won't let them follow him, they have to find someone else to follow, and it looks like Blaise is it."

"Poor Blaise," Ron muttered. Harry agreed wholeheartedly with this sentiment, but he reckoned the world would be much better off with Crabbe and Goyle trailing after Blaise Zabini than Draco Malfoy.

After dinner was over, Harry, Ron, and Hermione returned their books to Gryffindor Tower and then left for Prefect duty. It was, as Angelina had implied, fairly straightforward, not to say rather dull. The only students they saw for the first hour-and-a-half were on legitimate errands—returning a book to the library, going to Madame Pomfrey for a Headache Potion, and so on. The closest they had come to doing anything official was advising at third-year Ravenclaw boy to get a friend to accompany him when he needed to leave his Common Room; there wasn't a rule against walking about alone, but, given the events in the world outside Hogwarts, the teachers and Prefects tried to discourage the practise.

As they were heading down the Charms Corridor for at least the fifth time, a noise from Professor Flitwick's room stopped them in their tracks. Harry's hand flew to his wand pocket, and he immediately felt foolish. Paranoid, that's what he was. When he noticed Ron's and Hermione's hands on their wands as well, he felt a little better. The three of them grinned sheepishly at one another, and they went on toward the classroom to investigate.

Hermione, taking charge, knocked briskly on the door and called, "Hello, Prefects. Is anyone in there?" 

Harry and Ron snickered at "Hello, Prefects," but their smiles vanished when they saw the red eyes and woebegone expression of the first-year girl who opened the door. _Rachel Simmons_, Harry thought. She was a Gryffindor, but he didn't know her very well. She was quiet, and she always seemed a little distracted. "Am I in trouble?" Rachel asked.

"What's the matter?" Hermione asked, ignoring the girl's question of whether she was in trouble. 

"I'm worried about my mum," the child replied. "We haven't heard anything, and it's been such a long time…." She trailed off and turned away, trying to hide her tears, and Harry mentally smacked himself in the head. _Simmons. Of course._ He hadn't made the connection before, but her mother had to be Althea Simmons, the missing Head of the Department of Mysteries. Hermione stepped forward to put an arm around Rachel, and Harry and Ron stood awkwardly. Harry was trying to think of something encouraging to say, but he couldn't. There wasn't much to be encouraging about. Of the many witches and wizards who had disappeared during Voldemort's first reign, few had been found—alive, anyway—and, of the ones who had been found, most were now in St. Mungo's, either dreamy from Memory Charms or, more often, insane from excessive application of the Cruciatus Curse. Harry hoped that Rachel didn't know this, but he reckoned that the truth probably wasn't notably worse than whatever she was imagining. 

Rachel pulled away from Hermione, her tear-stained face set in a mask of quiet determination. "I'm okay now," she said firmly. "It just … gets to me sometimes."

"So you come here to be alone," Harry said. 

Rachel nodded. "Professor Flitwick never locks the door," she said. She added, half to herself, "Mum always locked the door. Always. Dad and I left to go to the store, and I heard her lock the door behind us, but it was open when we got back, and she was gone. I don't know how they got in. No sign of tampering—not even 'Alohamora,' not that it would have been strong enough…." She trailed off again as though suddenly remembering that she wasn't alone, and Harry had vivid mental image of this child, sitting alone, going over and over the events in her mind, wondering where it had gone wrong.

"Whatever happened wasn't your mum's fault," he heard himself saying. Rachel looked at him, surprised, and so did Ron and Hermione. "Sometimes, you can do everything right—lock the doors, and double-check the spells and enchantments, and do everything that you're supposed to do—and, even so, they get in. And there's nothing anybody could have done differently that would have kept them from getting in. You remember that, okay?" Rachel nodded, wide-eyed. Hermione patted her shoulder and said something about getting her back to the Common Room, and they all set off for Gryffindor Tower. Ron and Hermione were talking to Rachel—neutral topics, like classes and Quidditch teams—but Harry hung back, his mind spinning. 

Maybe he shouldn't have taken the Prefect position. Maybe he wasn't ready to be the one who had to deal with the children whose parents had been taken. This child's mum was, for now, only missing, and he didn't know what to say; how would he handle it when the parents were known to be dead? What would he say to the first student whose family his dreams had not been quick enough to save?

After scrambling through the portrait hole and sending Rachel off to a group of first-years with a few encouraging words, Harry, Ron, and Hermione collapsed into chairs at their usual table. Hermione said quietly to Harry, "That was good, what you said to Rachel. She needed to hear that it wasn't her mother's fault."

Harry snorted dismissively. "Doesn't do much in the way of getting her mum back, does it?" he said.

"No. But she still needed to hear it," Hermione replied. 

Harry sighed, but Hermione's encouragement did make him feel marginally better. He had said the right thing, or at least as right a thing as there was to be said. It wasn't much, but it was all he knew to do. Harry sighed again and gave himself a little shake to try to push away his cheerless thoughts; it had been, all in all, a good weekend, and he didn't want tonight's unwelcome reminder from reality to spoil it. Harry dug out Professor Smith's spare copy of _The Iliad_ and gave himself over for the rest of the evening to stories of a war that he didn't have to fight.


	12. The Try Outs

Disclaimer: Everything you recognise belongs to JKR. She's making boatloads of money from her ideas. I'm not. _C'est la vie_. J 

__

Author's Notes: I'm tremendously, tremendously sorry about the delay in this chapter. A vast conspiracy between travel, writer's block, and Real Life threw me down and stomped on me. I grovel at all of your feet, and I'll try to cut down the time lapse on the next one. Thanks to all the lovely reviewers, and thanks to Yolanda, whose beta-reading skills save my bacon time after time. 

The Try-Outs

On Monday afternoon, Slytherin lost points in a Potions class for the first time in years when Malfoy, Pansy Parkinson, and Tamerlaina Nott arrived seven minutes late. Harry suspected that Malfoy had been trying to play some sort of power game by showing up late, but most of the Slytherins hadn't played along, and Professor Jigger hadn't seemed impressed. Aside from this event, Monday and Tuesday classes passed

without incident, and Harry's meeting with the other Quidditch Captains arrived very quickly. Ron and Hermione walked him to the pitch after dinner and then left to wait in the stands. Cho Chang and Jasper Summers, Hufflepuff's seventh-year Keeper, were already there, and Harry smiled awkwardly at both of them. Jasper looked a bit apologetic, just as Charles Stebbins had looked at the first Prefect meeting on the Hogwarts Express. Harry could tell that Jasper, like Charles, knew that he was holding a position that should have been Cedric's. The three made stilted conversation for a few minutes until the arrival of Slytherin's new Captain Everard Derrick caused even this strained chatter to dribble to a stop.

Although Derrick had been known to attack an opposing Keeper when no Chasers were in scoring range—a tactic strictly forbidden by the rules of Quidditch—he certainly wasn't the dirtiest player on Slytherin's team, and Harry reckoned they could have picked a much worse Captain. In the past, Harry wouldn't have dreamed of trying to make a Slytherin feel more at ease in a tense situation; now, though, in the interests of trying to reduce inter-House grudges, he felt he ought to say something conciliatory, so he asked, "How's your team shaping up, Derrick? Looking to take many new players?"

The older boy eyed him suspiciously. "What's it to you?" he asked.

Harry brushed off this rudeness with a propitiating shrug. "Just curious. Gryffindor's planning to take a lot of new people to try to build up our reserves. That's the one area that Oliver Wood kind of neglected."

Cho nodded. "Roger Davies didn't pay enough attention to reserves, either. We don't even have enough people coming up from the reserves to field a full team; I'm going to need brand new people for Keeper and for one Chaser spot, and that's not even thinking about new reserves."

Jasper and a somewhat-less-suspicious Derrick added a few comments about their teams, and then the group lapsed into silence again. Madame Hooch emerged from her office near the changing rooms, her hawk eyes gleaming, and announced that the new broomsticks had arrived. Harry nodded, and the other three Captains looked blank. Seeing their confused looks, Madame Hooch said, "I assumed Potter would have mentioned them, but I can see that he hasn't." While Harry blushed furiously, Madame Hooch explained about his "generous donation" and then ushered them all into the broomshed to examine the new arrivals. Cho and Jasper looked very interested in the new brooms; Derrick briefly looked pained—Slytherin's team brooms had been far superior to everything except Harry's Firebolt, and he clearly wasn't happy about losing the advantage—but he cheered up a bit once he got a look at the new Cleansweeps. 

After they had finished looking over the brooms, they discussed the try-outs, which would take place over the next two evenings, with Gryffindor and Hufflepuff try-outs on Wednesday and Ravenclaw and Slytherin try-outs on Thursday. Then, they agreed on practise schedules, and, finally, Madame Hooch gave them each a parchment showing the schedule of the matches. Gryffindor and Ravenclaw had the first match of the year, to take place on the first Saturday in November; Harry and Cho locked eyes over their parchments and shrugged companionably at one another. Madame Hooch asked if they had any questions, and, when they didn't, she sent them off. 

As Harry was making his way across the pitch, Jasper stopped him to ask something. He said uncomfortably, "Ah, Potter, about those new brooms…. It's really none of my business, but, erm, did you buy them with the money you won in the Tournament?"

Harry shook his head emphatically. "No. I gave it away. I couldn't…. It wasn't…." He couldn't seem to manage to get a sentence out, and he shook his head again, trying to clear the image of Mr. and Mrs. Diggory from his mind. He had tried to get them to take the money, telling them that it should have been Cedric's, but they wouldn't have it, either. Finally, he blurted out, "I didn't want it. At least half of it should have been Cedric's—oi, it all should've been Cedric's—and I wasn't going to keep it after what happened."

Jasper nodded, approval in his eyes. "I just wanted to make sure. About the brooms, I mean. I don't think my team would have wanted to use them if…."

Harry nodded to show that he understood. The Hufflepuffs wouldn't have wanted to ride brooms bought with their friend's blood. Jasper clapped him roughly on the shoulder and strode away quickly. 

The rustle of a robe caught Harry's attention, and he turned to see Cho watching him. He flushed, wondering if she had heard his exchange with Jasper. Very quietly, she said, "I'd have used them even if you had bought them with the Tri-wizard money. You know why? Because Cedric would have wanted the money to go to something like that. He wouldn't have wanted the Cedric Diggory Memorial Pointless Slab of Granite; he'd have wanted something people could use. Something to make people happy." As Jasper had done, she touched Harry's shoulder, but more gently, her fingertips barely brushing his robe. She took a few steps, then turned and said with a teasing smile, "Of course, you're going to regret your generosity when we flatten you in that first match."

"Not a chance," Harry said around the lump in his throat, managing to smile back. Cho laughed, and then she was gone, running across the pitch to catch up to Jasper, her black hair flying out behind her. As he watched her go, Harry repeated quietly to himself, "Not a chance." He wasn't talking about the Quidditch match. He gave his head a little shake, squared his shoulders, and made his way to the stands, where Ron and Hermione were waiting.

*

Half the school turned out to watch the Wednesday evening try-outs, with Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs eager to cheer on their friends and Ravenclaws and Slytherins either attending out of curiosity or, in the case of the team members and hopefuls, keen to check out the competition. Hufflepuff won the coin toss, so they were granted the first try-out session. Harry settled in with his Housemates to watch.

Jasper Summers had a reserve Keeper and a reserve Beater, so he was only taking Chasers and a Seeker. After conferring with the Chaser candidates, Jasper mounted his broom (one of the school's new Cleansweeps, Harry noticed) and flew up to defend the goals at one end of the pitch; his reserve Keeper, Tony Snow, took the goals at the other end. The first Chaser candidate, Megan Jones, flew up from the ground and took four shots against Jasper. She scored twice. Then, as Megan flew to the other end of the pitch, the second candidate, a second-year boy whose name Harry didn't know, flew up. While the younger boy took his four shots against Jasper (one of which went through a hoop), Megan took four shot against Tony, scoring three times. Megan landed, the second-year flew to shoot against Tony, and a third candidate flew up to take on Jasper. This pattern continued until the six candidates had all taken four shots against Jasper and four against Tony. Once the one-on-one trials were finished, Jasper divided the Chasers up into two teams and had them scrimmage for about fifteen minutes in order to gauge their passing skills and their flying ability when faced with Bludgers and opposing team members. After this, he sent the Chaser candidates back to the stands and called the Seekers forward.

As Jasper talked to his three Seeker hopefuls, gesturing toward a bucket of golf balls, Harry noticed Fred and George engaging in a whispered conversation. Fred hopped up from his seat in the stands and hurried down to the pitch. Harry heard him call from the sidelines, "Oi, Summers!" Jasper broke off his conversation with the would-be Seekers and joined Fred. Harry watched as Fred, gesturing excitedly, chattered away to Jasper for a few moments and then pulled a Seeker's Scourge from his pocket. He and Jasper talked a bit more. Finally, the two shook hands, and Fred pulled two more Scourges from his pocket. Jasper returned to his Seeker candidates, and Fred returned to the stands, grinning.

"Are you giving aid to the opposition, Fred?" Harry asked in a mock-stern voice. 

"Yup," Fred replied, grinning even more broadly. "But I told him only the first one's free; he's paying for the other two when we get back to the castle."

"Trading with the enemy," Harry said, shaking his head. "What is the world coming to?"

"Welcome to free enterprise," George replied. He winked and added, "Have to keep the shareholders happy, don't we?" 

Harry, who was, so far as he knew, the only shareholder, rolled his eyes and returned his attention to the pitch. Jasper flew up to goal level in the centre of the pitch, and the first Seeker candidate hovered about halfway between Jasper and the ground. Jasper set off the Scourge, and the crowd in the stands said, "Oooooh!" Harry realised that only the students who had been present at Gryffindor's unofficial practise session had seen the Scourges before. While the spectators were oooooh-ing and ahhhhh-ing at the Weasley twins' ingenious device, the Seeker candidate was scrambling after the little balls. She managed to catch about six. She landed, and the next Seeker candidate took her place. When all three candidates had finished, Jasper sent them to wait in the stands and called his current team members down to the pitch. 

While the Hufflepuff team conferred, Cho Chang and Everard Derrick came to talk to Fred and George; the two Captains wanted Seeker's Scourges for their try-outs. The twins exchanged a glance, and George excused himself from the conversation. He gestured for Harry to follow him to an unoccupied corner of the stands. Quietly, he asked, "How far are we taking this 'be nice to the Slytherins' thing? Do you want me to sell Derrick Scourges for his team?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah. Since you sold some to Hufflepuff, it's only fair."

"Even though Malfoy's his Seeker?" George asked.

That made Harry pause for a moment. He didn't relish the thought of Malfoy training and improving his skills with the help of a product that he, Harry, had funded. He thought for a moment and finally said, "Sell Derrick the Scourges for try-outs if he wants some, but…." He trailed off, realising that there was no way to end that sentence without sounding like he was meddling in the twins' business affairs. He started over with a question instead. "Are you going to sell Scourges to the other teams for their practises?" he asked.

George thought for a moment and then said, "I'll have to talk to Fred about it, but I think probably not. I'd rather lose the money than do anything to help Malfoy, and I'll bet Fred would, too."

Harry nodded, and he and George returned to their seats. Fred and George arranged to meet the Ravenclaw and Slytherin Captains tomorrow evening with enough Seeker's Scourges to supply their try-outs, and Cho and Derrick left to rejoin their teammates. A few moments later, Jasper Summers stepped forward and announced, "The new Hufflepuff Chaser is Megan Jones." Everyone in the stands applauded. When the applause finished, Jasper continued, "New reserve Chasers are Nelson Goodspeed and Amity Peasgood." Everyone applauded again, and then again after Jasper announced the new reserve Seeker, Owen Cauldwell. After the last round of applause finished, Jasper ended with, "All team members, new and old, are to meet in the Common Room after the Gryffindor try-outs. Thanks to everyone who tried out, and thank all of you for coming to watch." He and the Hufflepuff team left the pitch. It was time for Gryffindor try-outs. 

Harry, his teammates, and the students who hoped to become his teammates made their way down to the pitch. Harry called the Keeper candidates and Chaser candidates forward. "Chasers," he said. "Each of you will take three shots against each Keeper. That's a total of twelve shots. McDonald and Thomas, you two are in the goals first. Carberry, you'll take three shots against McDonald, then you'll fly down to the other end of the pitch and take three shots against Thomas, and then you'll get in line behind Amber. Kingsley, while Carberry is taking his shots against Thomas, you'll take three against McDonald. Then you'll take your shots against Thomas, and then you'll get in line behind Carberry. Does everyone see how this works? It's just like the Hufflepuffs did it." Everyone nodded, and Harry continued, "Once Carberry gets to the front of the line again, Thomas and McDonald will come down, and Pomfret and Ron Weasley will take their places. Then, Chasers, you'll do the same thing again, except this time you'll be taking your shots against Pomfret and Weasley instead of McDonald and Thomas. All clear?" Everyone nodded again, and Harry said, "Very good. Thomas and McDonald, go guard your goals." Dean and Natalie McDonald, a second-year, flew off toward their positions. When they were in place, Harry said, "Whenever you're ready, Carberry."

Josiah Carberry flew up and took his three shots against Natalie. He scored twice. He flew down to shoot against Dean, and Elspeth Kingsley flew up to face Natalie. Ginny followed Elspeth, and then came Robert Denton, Gerald Brandon, and Elaine Amber. After Elaine had taken her shots against Dean, scoring once, Dean and Natalie flew down. Harry gave Ron, whose freckles had suddenly become much more pronounced, an encouraging grin. Ron grinned back weakly, took the new Cleansweep from Dean, and flew up to his goals. Noel Pomfret wasn't far behind him. Josiah Carberry flew up to face Noel, and the Chasers went through their rotation again. Once they had finished, Ron and Noel landed again, and Harry explained the next stage.

"Next," he said, "you'll play a scrimmage match. Three Chasers, two Beaters, and one Keeper—everything but a Seeker. You'll be playing with the current players. I want McDonald, Denton, Kingsley, Johnson, Thomas as Beater, and Fred Weasley in first for one side and Pomfret, Amber, Brandon, Bell, Elliot, and George Weasley in for the other." The teams grouped together and mounted their brooms. Harry released the Quaffle, and they were off. 

Harry didn't try to keep track of individual scores or plays (Alicia, a self-described "statistics swot," was taking care of that), instead focussing on getting a general feel for each player—for the way this one handled the Quaffle, the way that one blocked, the way another faked. After several minutes of play, he blew his borrowed whistle and called, "McDonald, Thomas, and Denton, out! Ron Weasley, Finnigan, and Carberry, in!" The players switched off quickly, and play continued. Harry blew his whistle again. "Pomfret, Amber, and Elliot, out! Thomas as Keeper, Ginny Weasley, and Staunton, in!" They switched off, and the remaining players kept going. Harry sent various players in and out, trying to make sure that everyone had relatively equal time. Finally, he blew his whistle to call them to the ground.

"Nice job, everyone," he said. "Very nice. The current team members will talk things over after the Seekers try out, and then we'll make announcements. Seekers, there are two parts to your try-outs. First, each of you will try to catch the balls from a Seeker's Scourge. You'll be alone on the pitch, just like the Hufflepuff Seekers were. Then, you'll try to catch the balls from another Scourge, but this time you'll have competition: I'll be trying to beat you to them, just as the opposing Seeker will try to beat you to the Snitch." A couple of the Seeker contenders gasped quietly at this last piece of news; they hadn't expected to have to play against Harry. "Any questions?" Harry asked. There were none. "In that case, let's get started. Wiggins!" Mary Wiggins followed Harry out onto the pitch. He took the goal-level position that Jasper had taken, and Mary hovered below him in the spot that the Hufflepuff Seeker contenders had chosen. Harry lit the end of the Scourge with his wand, then flew over to the sidelines to be out of Mary's way. When Mary finished, Rory Pontner, Dennis Creevey, and Rachel Franklin followed. Although Harry wasn't really attending to individual statistics just now, he noticed that Dennis seemed to catch many more balls than the other three. 

When Rachel had finished her round with the Scourge, Harry called Mary Wiggins back to the pitch. He hovered at her level this time, and George Weasley flew above them to set off the Scourge. Harry's goal in this part of the try-outs wasn't really to catch the balls; rather, his goal was to try to rattle the Seeker candidates. He wanted to see how they would react to an unpredictable opponent. Thus, when George lit the Scourge, Harry didn't immediately race for a ball; instead, he raced for Mary. Whenever she got within grabbing distance of a ball, he would block her. She was flustered, and she lost her focus and wasted time trying to get away from Harry instead of forming a new strategy. When the last ball hit the ground, Harry had caught two balls, and Mary hadn't caught any.

Rory Pontner didn't fare any better against Harry; he didn't catch any balls, either, and Harry caught four. Dennis Creevey, though, must have had a quick head as well as quick hands, for, when the Scourge was lit, he flew straight at Harry. Startled, Harry dove out of the way, and Dennis caught one of the balls before Harry could get righted. Harry caught one on his way back toward Dennis, and the two spent most of the rest of their time in the air getting in one another's way. Finally, they found themselves racing for the last ball. Dennis was closer, but Harry had the better broom, not to mention three seasons of experience. Harry flattened himself out against his broom to decrease the amount of wind resistance, and he pulled level with Dennis. He knocked Dennis's hand out of the way with one hand, used the other hand to grab the ball (which was so close to the ground that Harry's knuckles skimmed the grass), and used his feet to pull out of the dive just before he crashed. Dennis plowed into the ground, but he hopped up immediately, grass-stained and grinning, and exclaimed, "That was brilliant!" 

Harry laughed in impressed astonishment. Dennis was completely mad. The smaller boy bounced over to Harry and said anxiously, "Sorry about trying to fly into you."

Harry laughed again. "Don't be sorry; it was a great strategy. Do you need Madame Pomfrey to patch you up after that crash?" Dennis shook his head vigorously and insisted that he was fine, so Harry sent him to wait with the others and then returned to the pitch to face Rachel, who didn't catch any balls but managed to hold Harry to just one.

Harry called his current team members over. "Alicia, how are those statistics?" he said. Alicia showed him her parchments, and he gawked at them in awe. These were Hermione-worthy notes. Beside each contender's name, Alicia had made notes in categories Harry would never have thought of. For the Keepers, she had kept track of how many saves each had made, how many times someone had scored on them, which goal the save or score had occurred in, the level of difficulty of the save or score, the number of successful passes after a save…. The list went on, and Harry's head swam. "Erm, can you give us the summary version?" he asked. His fellow players snickered, and Alicia grinned self-deprecatingly.

"Told you I was a statistics swot," she said. "Okay, here's the really important stuff: For Chasers, Ginny Weasley had the most scores by far. Ron Weasley and Dean Thomas were really close in saves—Thomas had one more, 21 to Weasley's 20, but I think Weasley was playing against better Chasers most of the time during the scrimmage. Thomas was only against Ginny Weasley for a few minutes, and Ron was against her a lot. They were dead even, 12 saves each, in the free shots. As for Seekers, Dennis Creevey caught more balls than anyone else by a huge number, and he was the only one to catch a ball against you, Harry. Seamus Finnigan had the most hits and the most interceptions as a Beater, and Dean Thomas was close behind him."

"Okay," Harry said. "Dennis is the clear choice for Seeker, yes?" 

His teammates made sounds of agreement, and Fred said, in tones of amazement, "Wouldn't have thought the little bloke had it in him." Harry nodded; he couldn't quite believe it himself. Who'd have thought that Dennis Creevey would be a natural Seeker? 

On the other hand, he thought, who'd have thought, back when he started at Hogwarts, that scrawny little Harry Potter, always picked last for teams when they played games at his Muggle primary school, would have been a Quidditch star? You never could tell, with Quidditch. Returning to the task at hand, Harry said, "And we'll definitely take Ginny Weasley for Chaser." More nods from his teammates. "Who else should we take as Chaser?" he asked. "We're losing all three of you next year, so we should take at least that many, I think, to start getting them ready."

Angelina said, "The first-year girl, Kingsley, will fight like a dragon for the Quaffle. She took one of Finnigan's Bludgers right in the stomach, and she still managed to hang onto it. Even pulled off a fairly decent pass with all the wind knocked out of her."

"The little Carberry fellow is really fast, and he passes beautifully. Not quite aggressive enough, but he could probably be taught that," Katie interjected.

"Oh, and that third-year girl, Amber, didn't take many shots in the scrimmage, but she always seemed to be just where her I needed her when I needed to pass," Angelina added.

"Do we want to take all four of those?" Harry said. His teammates murmured in agreement. "Fine. And we definitely want Seamus as a Beater."

"Yeah, he's deadly with the Bludgers," Fred agreed.

"Pinpoint accuracy," said George. "I wouldn't want to be on the other end of Thomas's bat, either. Not quite as much finesse as Finnigan, but loads of power."

"Well, we obviously ought to take Dean, but do we want him as a Beater or as a Keeper?" Harry said.

The entire team was silent for a moment. Harry knew what was holding them back. One of the top two Keeper candidates was the best friend of one player and the brother of two others, and they didn't want to seem like they were making choices based on favoritism. On the other hand, Ron was good, and he'd have been one of the top two Keeper candidates even if he hadn't been Harry's friend or the twins' brother. 

Angelina finally spoke up. "We could ask Krum. He knows more strategy than any of us, and he did work with the Keepers on Saturday." The team members all agreed to this, and Harry called Viktor down from the stands.

"We're having a tough time deciding on a Keeper," Harry said after he had led Krum over to the team's discussion area.

Krum nodded. "Your friend Veasley flies very vell," he said, "and his instincts are excellent. But the other older boy, the tall, dark-skinned von—"

"Dean Thomas," Harry supplied.

"Yes, Thomas. He is also very good. Perhaps not such an instinctive feel for the Qvaffle as Veasley, but very fast, and very strong. It vood be a hard choice betveen the two of them."

"What would you do?" Angelina asked.

Krum thought for a moment, his thick eyebrows pulling together. After a moment, he said, "I vood not decide tonight. I vood take them both onto the team. Have them participate in practises, see who vorks best under different conditions—rain, or cold, or vot-haff-you—and then make your decision based on that. It is not so important to put each von into their little … vot do you call it … sparrow-hole…."

"Pigeon-hole," Katie amended.

"Ah, yes, pigeon-hole. You do not haff to say, 'You are the main Keeper, and you are the reserve, and that is that.' You can simply say, 'You are both Keepers, and each of you vill play ven the time seems right.'" Krum shrugged. "That is vot I vood do. I vood also have Thomas practise as a Beater as vell; he and the brown-haired boy vood make a good pair, I am thinking."

Harry glanced around at his teammates, who were nodding. "Then that's what we'll do. Thanks, Viktor."

"You are most velcome." Krum nodded his polite, formal nod and returned to the stands. 

Harry walked to the spot where Jasper had stood when he had called out the results of his team's try-outs. He called toward the stands, "Can everyone hear me?" A chorus of positive replies rang back. "Good. Okay, first, I'd like to thank everyone who tried out, and I'd like to encourage those of you who didn't make the team this time around to try again next year, when we'll need to replace our reserves. Now, the positions. Our reserve Seeker is Dennis Creevey." The spectators applauded wildly, apparently having been impressed by Dennis's performance, and Dennis's grin looked ten miles wide. "Reserve Chasers are Ginny Weasley, Elaine Amber, Josiah Carberry, and Elspeth Kingsley." More applause. "Reserve Beaters are Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas." Still more applause. "As for Keeper, we just couldn't decide. Ron Weasley and Dean Thomas, you are both on the team as Keepers—" (Harry had to pause for the applause, and he saw Hermione cheering from her seat.) "—and we'll decide which of you will be in the goal for our first game when the time comes. Thanks to everyone for coming. Team members, meet in the Common Room in, say, half an hour." 

As the crowd dispersed, Harry disentangled himself from his old teammates and made his way across the pitch to Ron. He and Hermione reached their friend at the same time, and Hermione greeted Ron with one of her impulsive hugs. "Congratulations!" she said breathlessly. Then she turned to hug and congratulate Ginny as well.

"Oi, where's my hug? I'm on this team, too!" This protest came from Seamus Finnigan, who followed it up by giving Hermione a very ostentatious hug that involved spinning her around several times. Hermione blushed, Ron glared daggers at him, and Seamus grinned cheekily at Harry and left to join Dean. Harry added his congratulations to Hermione's.

"If it's all the same to you, we can skip the hug," Ron said. Harry feigned deep disappointment, but the effect was spoiled by his broad smile. His best friend was now his teammate, and that made him happier than he'd been in quite a while. Turning serious, Ron asked quietly, "Was I really as good as Dean?"

Harry nodded vigorously. "He had one more save than you did in the scrimmage, but you were against better Chasers more often. On the free shots you were even, twelve and twelve. You deserve your spot."

Fred, who had arrived beside the group in time to hear the end of the conversation, added, "Yeah. You certainly didn't get it because we _like_ you or anything." 

"I should say not!" George agreed, sounding scandalised at the very thought, and Ron, because of the perverse nature of sibling relationships, looked relieved.

"So, Captain, why is there half an hour between now and the team meeting time?" Fred asked Harry.

"If you and George wanted to sneak off and get some supplies for the meeting—"

"—Which, as a Prefect and your Captain, Harry could never condone," Hermione interrupted.

"Of course not. So don't even think about it. But if you were to do it, strictly against my advice, I thought you'd need about that long," Harry replied. 

"A first-rankCaptain always considers the greater good of the team when making decisions. Nice job." Fred and George ruffled Ron's and Ginny's hair, made embarrassing comments about how proud they were of their ickle brother and baby sister, and raced away to nick food from the kitchens with Lee Jordan.

"Don't know how they manage all that sneaking about without the Map," Ron remarked as he, Harry, Hermione, and Ginny strolled back to the castle. Ginny replied that she didn't _want_ to know how they managed it, a sentiment with which Harry and Hermione both concurred. 

When they arrived in the Common Room, the party was already in progress, even without the twins' pilfered food. Dennis Creevey, he of the impressive and wholly unexpected Seeker skills, was the man of hour, and the second-years had draped him in Gryffindor banner. Not to be out-done, the first-years had plied Josiah and Elspeth with House scarves, giving Josiah, especially, a striking resemblance to a scarlet and gold mummy. The third-, fourth-, and fifth-years relied on Confetti Charms to decorate the new team members from their classes, and Ron and Ginny had soon joined Seamus, Dean, and Elaine in picking glitter from their eyelashes. When Lee and the twins arrived (bearing enough food to fill a Quidditch stadium), the noise increased still more. Harry didn't even try to gather the team for more than an hour, knowing that it would be wasted effort. Finally, things calmed down enough for him to make himself heard above the noise, and he announced that he needed to see his teammates. The players, new and old, made their way to the far corner, and the party continued, a bit more quietly, without them. 

"This shouldn't take long," Harry said to the attentive faces of his teammates. "I just wanted to let you know about practise schedules. We'll practise four times each week: Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday evenings and Saturday mornings. Each practise session is two hours—"

"Eight hours a week?" interrupted Fred. "Godric's ghost, Harry, that's worse than Wood!" 

Harry explained that the first hour of each practise session would be for an individual position: Chasers on Monday, Keepers on Wednesday, Beaters on Thursday, and Seekers on Saturday. "So only five hours a week for each player," he concluded. "Is that better, Fred?" Fred acknowledged that this was much better, and Harry moved on to the next topic. "Slytherin and Ravenclaw have the pitch tomorrow evening for their try-outs, so our first practise is Saturday. I think we should all be there for the full two hours for this first practise, and we'll start the position-specific practises on Monday. Is that okay?" 

His teammates assented, and Harry asked if there were any questions. Angelina asked, "Will you come to practise for all the positions?"

Harry thought for a moment, then nodded. "Yeah. At least for the first few weeks, anyway. If I'm going to be a decent Captain, I'll need to know more about the other positions. Anything else?" There wasn't, so Harry told his team that he'd see them Saturday at nine-thirty, congratulated the new team members again, and sent everyone back to the party. 

Harry and Ron stayed where they were, and, after the other players had cleared out, Hermione joined them. She settled into her seat and said, "So, ready to work on the Potions assignment?"

"Hermione! We already _did_ the Potions assignment," Ron protested. "You nagged us all afternoon about having it finished before try-outs, remember?"

"I know, but I thought you might want to go over it again. Just to be sure you know it." Hermione winked at Harry across the table. 

Ron looked all set to protest, but he caught the wink. "You're having me on, aren't you?" he said.

"Would I _joke_ about a homework assignment?" Hermione asked. 

Ron opened his mouth, closed it, and thought for a moment. Finally, he said, "I'm not even going to try to answer that. Anyone up for chess?"

"You two go ahead," Harry said. "I just got those old play books from Oliver, and I want to look them over." He opened the first book and exclaimed aloud, "The nutter! These are in code!" 

"I told you you should've taken Ancient Runes," Hermione said. 

Harry scowled at her, and Ron laughed. Harry brightened considerably when he realised that Oliver had included a note saying, "_Potter—Just write 'Gryffindor Shall Conquer' in the bottom left corner of the inside cover and then cast any Revealing Spell you want. The code is mostly for show, but I couldn't resist. Wood._" Harry followed these instructions, and the senseless code changed into words and arrows. These made only slightly more sense to Harry than the code had, but he reckoned he could figure it out. He spent the rest of the evening working through the plays, listening to Ron and Hermione spar over the chessboard, and hoping he'd be a passable Captain.

--

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More Author's Notes/A Cry for Help: I've had some suggestions from reviewers that I give this story a more "serious" title so that folks will know that it's not a parody. The trouble is, I'm having major Title Block (a particularly specific form of Writer's Block), which is why this story didn't get a snazzy, non-tongue-in-cheek title the first time around. (I was going to go with "HP and the Order of the Phoenix," as the Order will eventually provide the centerpiece for the story, but there are already just too darn many of those out there. J ) I'm thinking about something like "HP and the Year of Preparations" or "HP and the Shadows of War." How do folks feel about either of those? Does anyone have other brilliant suggestions? I thought I'd sound out the readers before I commit to changing my cute, clever, tongue-in-cheek title to a serious, buttoned-down, we're-not-messing-around-here title.

Thanks, 

TSS


	13. The Order of the Phoenix

Disclaimer: If you recognize it from the HP books, it belongs to Rowling. If you recognize it from Greek mythology, it belongs (at least, the version I'm familiar with belongs) to Homer.

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Author's Note: Is it even worth apologizing for the delay on this chapter? Probably not, but I'll do it anyway: Sorry, sorry, sorry for taking so long on this one. Mea culpa, lashings of apologies, etc, etc. If the folks who read and reviewed previous chapters have long since given up, I won't blame them a bit. Anyway, for the handful of you who are still around, here it is. This one has elements of what Angua calls an "infodump;" I hope the exposition doesn't drag too much. Tthough it probably isn't required background reading, the Muggle Studies class scene will likely make more sense if you've read The Iliad_. Tune in for a post-OotP, welcome-to-AU-characterization Author Note at the end. Thanks, as always, to my wonderful beta-reader, Yolanda, and to my lovely reviewers!_

Chapter Thirteen--The Order of the Phoenix

With Quidditch practise, Prefect duties, O.W.L.s study, and classes, Harry felt like he barely had time to breathe in the week that followed the Gryffindor try-outs. He made time to go to the Ravenclaw and Slytherin try-outs, and he and his friends took the night of 19 September off to celebrate Hermione's birthday, but, aside from that, the days seemed to blend together in a haze. The rapid pace of fifth-year life almost gave Harry a chance to feel like a normal student with normal worries. Almost.

The first public reminder that the world, as it currently stood, was far from normal came in the class where Harry would least have expected it: Muggle Studies. They'd been discussing _The lliad_ since the start of term, and Harry had been enjoying this slice of ancient Greek life. It was a war that wasn't black and white; there were good people on both sides of the battle, and even the heroes had some human failings. The class was still deeply divided in its opinion of Achilles. Several of the students, particularly some of the girls, found him a braggart, while others insisted that, as the hero of the Greek forces, he _deserved_ to have a high opinion of himself. They had discussed other aspects of the story, of course, but the Achilles debate popped up in some form at least once a week, and it turned rather heated one Friday afternoon.

Morag McDougal was in the middle of one of her weekly anti-Achilles rants, which she finished with, "…and if he'd been out doing his job instead of pouting in his ship, his best friend might still be alive."

Justin, as usual, came to Achilles's defence. "I say, Morag, that's hardly fair. Patroclus made his own decision. He _asked_ Achilles to lend him his armor. He _asked_ to go fight."

_Cedric didn't ask to go_, Harry thought. _I talked him into it_.

"And did Achilles try to talk him out of it?" Morag countered. Answering her own question with barely a pause, she continued, "Oh, no. Achilles said, 'Sure, take my armor. Here, let me help you with it. Let me dress you up and send you out like a lamb to the slaughter.'"

_Take my armor. Take the Cup. Both of us. We'll take it at the same time._ Harry slunk a little lower in his seat, hoping that no one else's thoughts were following the same lines as his own.

"Patroclus was no 'lamb to the slaughter,'" Justin replied. "He was a soldier. Soldiers fight, and sometimes they die. Yes, it's horrible, and, yes, it's tragic, but that's what war is." 

Harry could feel a cold sweat breaking out on his forehead. _But we weren't soldiers, and it wasn't supposed to be a war._

"But soldiers aren't supposed to fight and die alone. They're supposed to have their comrades fighting beside them." Morag wasn't backing down.

Gripping the edge of his desk so hard that his knuckles turned white, Harry kept up his silent role in the conversation. _I _was_ beside him. I just didn't know we were supposed to be fighting. I didn't know._

Justin wasn't backing down, either. "Patroclus was hardly alone. Aside from Achilles, the entire Greek army was there."

"Aside from Achilles … _and_ Odysseus, _and_ Agammemon, _and_ Diomedes," Morag listed, ticking off the names on her fingers, "_and_ all the other good fighters who were sidelined with wounds. The Trojans had been mowing down Greeks left and right all day, and the only big-name fighters left were Ajax and Patroclus…."

"…and that whacking great team of Myrmidons that Achilles sent them," Justin interrupted. "The Myrmidons were enough to push the Trojans back from the ships. That's all that Patroclus was supposed to do—Achilles specifically told him to come back after the ships were safe—but he decided to keep pushing forward. Yes, he made a bad decision that cost him his life, but it was _his own_ bad decision. It's simply not on to blame Achilles for that."

_It wasn't his decision. It was my idea. _

Su Li, who loved to try to get a rise out of her classmates by saying outrageous things, stepped in to "help" Justin. "Justin's right. If anybody deserves to be blamed, here, it's Patroclus. If he had done what he was supposed to do instead of rushing in and getting himself killed, Achilles wouldn't have had to risk his own life to recover Patroclus's body." 

Harry rested his head in his hands, wishing he could vanish. No one noticed, though, for partisans in both sides of the debate were completely incensed by Su's remark (which had been her intention). While Su smiled innocently, Justin rushed to clarify that he certainly hadn't meant to place extra blame on Patroclus, and Morag said something to the effect that, if Achilles had shown half as much loyalty to the living Patroclus as he showed to his corpse, Patroclus might not have become a corpse in the first place. Megan Jones and Mandy Brocklehurst added their voices to the debate—Megan to claim that that Achilles's effort was "too little, too late, and what good did it do Patroclus, anyway, being that he was already dead?" and Mandy to say that tossing around blame was hardly the point—and Professor Smith had to intervene to restore order. 

"Megan has raised and interesting question," Professor Smith said. "What was the purpose of recovering Patroclus's body?"

_He asked me to. _Harry accidentally caught Megan's eye, and she froze. For a moment, Harry thought he had actually spoken aloud. 

Apparently, though, he hadn't, for the rest of the class was carrying on as usual. Morag was saying acidly, "Well, we see what Achilles does to the bodies of fallen enemies. I reckon he didn't want to watch the Trojans dragging Patroclus's corpse around the city. Megan's right, though; it can't make the slightest difference to Patroclus at that point. It's just to save face." 

Terry Boot, who hardly ever spoke up in class, surprised everyone by quietly taking issue with this statement. "According to the ancient Greek religion, though, I think it _was_ supposed make a difference to Patroclus. Didn't they believe that the spirit couldn't rest until the body was properly seen to?" Professor Smith nodded, and Terry continued, "So it wasn't just about saving face; it was about taking care of his friend's soul."

While Terry was speaking, Harry saw Megan say something to Morag. Morag glanced toward Harry, closed her eyes for a moment, and nodded to Megan. Then she scribbled something on a piece of parchment, which she passed to Mandy. Mandy passed it on to Justin, who opened it and read it. He looked away for a moment, crumpling the parchment in an unconscious gesture of renunciation, and then he, too, glanced at Harry. When Professor Smith asked if anyone had a response to Terry's comment, no one spoke. 

"Morag?" he asked. She shook her head, and he looked surprised. "Justin? Terry's view of things seems to help your argument that Achilles is really a decent fellow after all; would you like to elaborate?" Justin, too, shook his head. Professor Smith gaped at him for a moment, clearly wondering what had caused his two chief antagonists to fall silent. He shrugged, then swept his gaze over the rest of the class. "How about someone we haven't heard from yet today?" he said. His eyes met Harry's, and he said, "Harry, what's your take on the fight over Patroclus's body? Does it matter at all, or…." He trailed off in mid-sentence, realisation dawning in his eyes. 

Professor Smith's shoulders slumped just a bit, and he bit his bottom lip and looked thoroughly disgusted with himself. "I should have had us read _The Odyssey_ this year," he muttered softly. In his normal tone, he said, "Mr. Potter, I am a thoughtless, insensitive clod, and I'll happily throw myself off the Astronomy Tower if you'd like."

Harry smiled wanly at him. "Don't bother," he said.

Professor Smith's answering flash of a smile was equally bleak. "Well, let's see if I can find anything to say to salvage today's meeting." He paced in front of the class for a moment, apparently at a loss. Still pacing, he asked, "Miss MacDougal, is Achilles a villain?"

"Erm, no," said Morag, sounding resigned. "He's a royal pain, and I think he made lots of mistakes, but I wouldn't call him a villain. He's irritating and arrogant and dislikeable, but he's not evil."

Professor Smith nodded. "Can we all agree that, whatever his faults, Achilles isn't evil?" Nods and murmers of assent. "Good. Now, Achilles isn't evil, but we see what he does to Hector's body. Whether it matters to Hector or not is irrelevant; mistreating a corpse was, in that society, a dire offense—an offense against the person whose spirit had once inhabited that body, an offense againt that person's family and city, an offense against the gods. In short, it's bad. Now, if a good person—or at least a not-evil person—is capable of doing something like that to the body of someone that he has killed in battle, imagine what an evil person would be capable of doing in a similar situation." 

The end-of-class bell rang, but none of the students moved. Still pacing, Professor Smith continued to speak. "I know this is supposed to be Muggle Studies, but let's return to the magical world for a moment. The only thing Achilles is doing is dragging Hector's corpse around behind his chariot, and even that isn't doing any damage; the gods are protecting Hector's body. But nowdays we don't have Greek gods swooping down out of the sky to protect us, and there are wizards out there who would do much, much worse things to corpses than drag them around a city. Ask Professor Jigger about the black market in illegal potions ingredients. On second thought, don't ask. It'll give you nightmares. The point is this: You might think that what happened to Patroclus's body, or the body of any other Greek soldier, didn't really matter. But, in the war that we're about to fight, it will matter what happens to the bodies of the dead. Setting aside emotional reasons, cultural reasons, all of those things, it matters for the purely practical reason that Dark wizards can do horrible things with corpses, and those of us who want to fight Dark wizards don't want to give them that chance." Professor Smith paused for a moment. "On that cheerful note, you are dismissed. I'm sorry about today's lesson, and we'll try to begin with something not quite so close to home next time." He waved a hand toward the door, and the students began to leave. Professor Smith caught Harry's eye. "I'm sorry, Harry," he said, collapsing into his desk chair in a posture of defeat.

Harry shrugged. "Not your fault."

"The fact that something bad isn't your fault doesn't necessarily make you feel any less awful about it," the professor replied. "But I imagine that you already know that."

_Isn't that the truth_, Harry thought bitterly. He nodded grimly and left the room to join Hermione, who stopped short when she saw the look on Harry's face. 

"Rough lesson?" she asked.

Harry snorted. "You could put it that way." Wanting to talk about anything else, he asked, "How was Arithmancy? What are you studying?"

Hermione looked at him suspiciously, knowing that Harry, in a normal mood, would sooner eat Flobberworms than listen to her talk about Arithmancy. She must have decided to take his hint, though, for she obligingly chattered about sines and cosecants and imaginary numbers ("But, you see, Muggles only _think_ they're imaginary") until they arrived at the North Tower to collect Ron.

*

As he sat at the Gryffindor table at lunch, picking at his vegetables and tearing his roll into tiny pieces, Harry thought about what Professor Smith had said. "In the war that we're about to fight, it will matter what happens to the bodies of the dead." He as well have said, "in the war that we're already fighting." Harry hadn't known—and he doubted that the shadow of Cedric had known, either—about what might be done to Cedric's body if he had left it with Voldemort that night, and the thought made him shudder. 

He hadn't known. What else didn't he know? In that situation, it didn't matter that he hadn't known; he'd brought Cedric's body back even without the knowledge of what he was saving it from. But it could have mattered. It might matter next time. 

He noticed Ron and Hermione exchanging worried looks, and he gave up trying to pretend that everything was fine; he wasn't fooling them, anyway. "I need to talk to Dumbledore," he said. The Headmaster was just rising from the head table to leave the Great Hall, and Harry rose to intercept him. Ron and Hermione both started to stand to accompany him, but he waved them off. "You two finish your lunch; I'll get him to walk me back to Gryffindor Tower. I'll meet you there." Without waiting for a reply, Harry hurried to catch up to Professor Dumbledore.

He met the Headmaster just outside the doors to the Great Hall and asked if they could talk for a bit. Professor Dumbledore readily agreed, and they made their way up to his office. 

After they had settled into their chairs and selected their sweets (a Muggle sherbet lemon for Professor Dumbledore and a Sugar Quill for Harry), the Headmaster focussed his blue, searching gaze on Harry and asked, "What's on your mind, Harry?"

Harry sucked for a moment on the end of his Sugar Quill, trying to compose his thoughts. There was so much on his mind that he didn't know where to begin. He finally started with, "Today, in Muggle Studies class.… You know the part in _The Iliad_ where Patroclus is killed and Achilles goes to fight for his body? We got to that part. And, eventually, it made the class start thinking about Cedric and … and me. About what happened last year." Harry paused, took a breath, and tried to will away the memories of that horrible night. "Professor Smith said that Death Eaters do awful things to the bodies of the people they kill—like, use them for Dark magic and things. I know he was mostly telling us to make me feel better, to make me feel like I'd really saved Cedric from something bad, but it really started me thinking about … about things I don't know. I didn't know that Death Eaters used bodies for Dark magic. And that makes me wonder what else I don't know." He looked uncertainly at Professor Dumbledore, hoping that the Headmaster would understand his half-expressed wish for information.

Professor Dumbledore put his hands together and briefly rested his forehead on the tips of his middle and index fingers. Harry was strongly reminded of Muggle pictures of saints at prayer; he could almost see the halo of light around Professor Dumbledore's head. When the Headmaster lowered his hands, the image was gone, and he looked as old and tired and alone as Harry had ever seen him look. Finally, he spoke, more to himself than to Harry.

"Do you know, Harry, what most people would like to have more than anything else in the world—more than money, more than power, more than fame?" Harry, taking the question as rhetorical, merely shrugged to indicate that Professor Dumbledore should continue. "_Time_, Harry. Time to fix past mistakes, time to plan, time to think, time to live, time simply to be. At certain points in their lives, most people would give almost anything in order to have a little more time. But so often we misuse the time that we do have. We worry about getting time right. We don't want to do something to early, so we let an opportunity pass us by, or we don't want to miss a chance, believing that it may never come again, so we reach for something too soon, before the time is ripe. There are so many ways to get time wrong, and so few ways to get it right."

Professor Dumbledore looked seriously at Harry, and, when he spoke again, his voice was firmer, more decisive, as if he were getting to the important part. "There is a right time, Harry, for knowledge. I have always tried to wait for the right time to tell people things that could affect them deeply, things that could change their lives in irrevocable ways. Perhaps I have sometimes waited too long. I wish that I could wait longer to tell you all that I can about this war. The Dark is something that no child should have to deal with—don't grimace, Harry, you _are_ still a child, and I wish you could live as one. A very wise Muggle once said that knowledge is power, but with power comes responsibility. Knowledge of the evils that we are facing comes with responsibility of a sort from which I wish I could protect you. And yet I know how things must be, and I am confident that you will rise to the occasion as you always do. There is much for me to tell you, Harry—so much that I hardly know where to begin."

The Headmaster paused again and then smiled his gentle, faintly amused smile. "I suppose the best place to begin is the beginning. And the story that you need to hear, Harry, begins more than a thousand years ago, just a few years after the founding of Hogwarts. Those were dark days, much like the ones that we face now. It was a time of great unrest in both the wizard and the Muggle worlds. As you already know, the borders and boundaries within Muggle Britain were not established then, and there were constant wars and battles for territory. There were similar conflicts in the wizarding world. 

"Then, to make matters worse, a Dark witch called Morhaggen came to power on what we now call the Isle of Wight. She gained control of the wizarding population there, and then she began to spread her rule through the British Isles. Around the time that she was setting her sights on Ireland, Salazar Slytherin and Godric Gryffindor had their final argument, and Slytherin left Hogwarts. When he left, he joined Morhaggen. Their combined power was a force like none the wizarding world had ever faced. Ireland fell, and the main island of Britain looked to be next."

While Dumbledore paused to drink a bit of water, Harry sucked at his Sugar Quill and wondered what the long-past reign of a Dark witch had to do with him. He kept his peace, though, knowing that Dumbledore would get there in his own time. The Headmaster set down his goblet and continued.

"Suddenly, the tide of the war turned. Over and over, the Dark pair and their followers would stage attacks on the island of Britain, and, over and over, the attacks would fail. There were casualties on both sides, and, every now and then, a town or village might be taken for a few days, but only for a few days. No town was ever held by the Dark pair. It was as if someone on the side of the Light knew of their plans in advance and thwarted them every time. Do you know what caused the tide to turn, Harry?" Harry shook his head, and Dumbledore continued, "The Light side found some leaders—leaders as talented and powerful as the leaders of the Dark side. A band of witches and wizards came together to plan and to fight. Instead of merely reacting to the movements of the other side, they began to plan their own strategies and campaigns. They went into the wizarding settlements and taught defensive spells to the citizens; they sent spies to infiltrate the other side; they even waged a few offensive battles and took back some of the Irish settlements. Finally, they managed to take Salazar Slytherin prisoner in battle. When Morhaggen refused to send anyone to rescue him, he forswore his alliance with her, and he gave the Light side the information that they needed to defeat her. She was killed in the next battle, and the wizarding world returned to relative peace.

"The peace was restored mostly because of the witch Gwenhwyfar, the half-sister of Godric Gryffindor. It was Gwenhwyfar who brought together the band who guided the Light side. She chose the members of the inner circle, and they looked to her as their leader. It was a spell of her devising that bound them to one another in a way that protected them against infiltration by the other side.

"A hundred years later, when the next Dark wizard rose, Gwenhwyfar's granddaughter, Gràinne Wright, took her grandmother's place in the fight. She called together the few living members of the old inner circle, and together they found new members to help them in their battle against the darkness. This time, they gave themselves a name. They called their group the Order of the Phoenix, for they had been reborn from the remains of the old order. Again, they led the battle against the Dark forces, and, again, they triumphed.

"This is how it has been, down through the centuries. When a Dark witch or wizard attempts to gain control of the wizarding world, the Order of the Phoenix rebuilds itself to battle for the Light side. There have been times when the Order has dispatched the fledgling Dark leader so quickly that the wizarding world at large didn't even have time to learn of the threat. In the Order's last incarnation, as you have no doubt guessed, the threat was not put down so easily, for Lord Voldemort proved a far more powerful enemy than any that the Order had ever faced."

Here, Harry interrupted to ask, "You call it 'The Order' like it never changes, but it's different people every time, right? So what makes it still the same Order and not a new one?"

Dumbledore looked pleased, as though this question was precisely the one that he had wanted Harry to ask. "It is still the same Order because Gràinne Wright made it so. When she took Gwenhwyfar's place as the leader of the forces of Light, she resurrected Gwenhwyfar's protective spell, and she modified it a bit so that it did far more than merely protect the members of the Order from infiltration. It bound them in a way that allowed them always to call on one another for aid, to reach one another even through barriers to communication and Apparation, to tap into one another's reserves of strength and energy. Gràinne Wright's Binding Charm is one of the most powerful spells that has ever been developed, and it is one of very few spells that cannot be cast by one wizard alone. Gràinne designed it so that it requires two Casters, and, for it to be completely successful, each of those Casters must fulfill particular requirements. One Caster must be a member of a previous gathering of the Order. The other must be a direct descendant of Gwenhwyfar Gryffindor."

Professor Dumbledore paused, and Harry nodded to show that he was still following. He couldn't see yet what any of this had to do with him, but he had a feeling that Professor Dumbledore was getting close to the point when all would become clear.

Professor Dumbledore continued, "These requirements, when Gràinne developed them, did not seem terribly onerous. A single previous Order member would never be too hard to find, and those of Gwenhwyfar's children who chose to marry had many, many children, so finding a descendant of that line should have been easy, as well. But things changed. There were fevers and illnesses, and wizarding families grew smaller. The habit of having large families fell out of fashion, and wizarding families grew smaller still. The Gryffindor family was hit particularly hard by the illnesses, and the ancient names of Gryffindor and Wright, the name of Gwenhwyfar's husband, had died out by the sixteenth century. Even if the names were gone, though, the bloodline itself carried on, passed down by descendants of daughters of the houses. But those descendants were many fewer than Gràinne could ever have foreseen. By the middle of the present century, only one family remained that could trace its ancestry back to the Gwenhwyfar—a family called Smythe. The only child of this family was a daughter named Ellen, who married a man named Will Potter."

Harry started and sat up straighter in his chair at the sound of his own surname. Professor Dumbledore nodded. "Yes, Harry, your grandparents. You can reason out the rest for yourself. You are the only remaining descendant of Ellen Potter, neé Smythe, and therefore the last living descendant of Gwenhwyfar Gryffindor's line. You are needed to cast the Binding Spell to provide full power to the Order of the Phoenix."

"That's why he wanted to kill me, then," Harry said, as much to himself as to the Headmaster. "And that's why he said that my mum didn't have to die; she wasn't the descendent, so she wasn't a threat to him. Is that it?"

"That is it precisely. There was one flaw in the Binding Spell: It protects the Order from infiltration from without, but it does not protect against treachery from within. At the time that Peter Pettigrew joined Voldemort, he was already a member of the Order. He knew its secrets, and he passed them to his new master. Voldemort acted swiftly to wipe out the remaining members of your father's family, and he nearly succeeded. He had not, however, counted on the strength of your mother's sacrifice. She died for you, and his attempt to kill the final member of Gwenhwyfar's line rebounded, striking him instead and sending him into lonely and formless oblivion for more than a decade. But now he has returned, and, if we are to have a chance of fighting him successfully, the Order will need to convene again." 

Dumbledore paused and looked steadily at Harry for a few moments, as if trying to take his measure before continuing. Harry forced himself not to look impatient or uncomfortable under the force of that blue, searching gaze; he tried to look like someone up to the task that he knew Dumbledore must ask him to undertake. Apparently, he succeeded, for Dumbledore continued to speak. "It has never been the policy of the Order to open itself to underage wizards who have not completed their schooling, but there is no one else to do it. If I could have, I would have shielded you from even knowledge of the Order's existence until you had reached the end of your school days, but I could not. I am asking you now, Harry, at a time that seems both too early and too late, to take your place as Caster and full member in the Order of the Phoenix."

Immediately, Harry replied, "I'll do it. Of course I'll do it. But I want Ron and Hermione to be in the Order, too."

"It is, as I have said, highly irregular to allow underage wizards into the Order." When Harry opened his mouth to object, Professor Dumbledore continued, with the faintest trace of amusement, "However, it is the job of the Casters to choose the other members of the Order, and, if you can obtain the consent of your fellow Caster, then Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley may enter the Order." When Harry asked who the other Caster was, the trace of amusement grew to a full-fledged, extremely mischievous smile, and Professor Dumbledore answered, in his most innocent, off-hand tone, "I am." He paused—perhaps for effect, perhaps simply to give Harry a chance to learn to deal gracefully with impatience—and then continued, "If, upon being fully apprised of the danger that members of the Order may be asked to face, your friends still wish to join, then I will allow it. You have proven extremely valuable to one another in the past, and I have no doubt that you will all prove so again in the future."

Harry nodded, glad to have obtained Dumbledore's agreement without having to argue for it and relieved beyond measure that Dumbledore was treating him like an adult by giving him information and allowing him to make his own decisions. He sat for a moment, trying to absorb all that Dumbledore had told him, wondering which of the many questions vying for attention in his head should take priority. Finally, he asked, "Who else is in the Order?"

"That is up to us," Professor Dumbledore replied. "There are many living members of previous Orders, but membership in an old Order does not guarantee membership in the new one. Some members may not choose to join this Order; others may not be invited. Mr. Pettigrew, obviously, will not be receiving an invitation to join the current incarnation of the Order—" (Harry laughed at this in spite of himself, surprised at Dumbledore's gallows humour) "—and there are other former Order members—the Longbottoms, for instance—who are no longer physically and mentally capable of service. And there will, of course, be new members. Shall I enumerate for you the members of the old Order whom we might consider for membership in the new Order?" Harry nodded, and Dumbledore began to list names. "Old order Members include Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, Rubeus Hagrid, Alastor Moody, Minerva McGonagall, Severus Snape" (Harry tried to hide his grimace), "Arabella Figg, Mundungus Fletcher, John Kimble and Celwyn Croaker from the Ministry, Celwyn's wife, Winifred, Madame Rosmerta from the Three Broomsticks, Firenze the centaur, and Griphook the goblin. Are those individuals all acceptable to you as members of the Order?" 

Under the Headmaster's searching blue gaze, Harry hesitated. He didn't know some of the people Dumbledore had mentioned, but he would trust Dumbledore's judgment on them. Most of the ones that he know, he was content—more than content, in some cases—to approve. But he wasn't sure he could approve Snape. Finally, he spoke. "I don't want to be petty, and I'm trying not to be, but I'm really not sure about Professor Snape. Putting aside the way he treats me, he's awful to Professor Lupin, and he and Sirius can't be in the same room without trying to kill each other. I don't know if any of us can work with him." 

Dumbledore nodded. "I understand your concerns, Harry, and I hope that you will believe that I am not asking to include Professor Snape merely to teach you some abstract lesson. Life has already presented you with more than enough opportunities to learn to endure people who refuse to treat you fairly and to accept you on your own merits. I am advocating Professor Snape's membership in the Order because he has knowledge that none of the rest of us have. He was a Death Eater, and he knows more about the workings of Voldemort's inner circle than the rest of us could ever hope to learn. We need his knowledge." Professor Dumbledore paused, obviously waiting for Harry to reply, but Harry couldn't quite bring himself to say anything. Faced with Harry's hesitation, Dumbledore continued, "Professor Snape had personal disagreements with many members of the old Order—Sirius, Remus, and your father among them—but they all managed to be civil to one another when Order business was at stake. Your father accepted him into the Order over loud protests from Sirius, and I believe that even Sirius came to see that Severus's presence was vital. In spite of their great personal dislike for one another, James recognised Severus's value. I hope you will be able to do so as well."

And that, Harry reckoned, cinched it. If his dad had been able to put up with Snape, so could he. "If he wants in, we should take him," he said.

Professor Dumbledore beamed at Harry, the proud, encouraging smile that always made Harry feel like whatever tough decision he'd made was worth all the trouble. Now that the decision about Snape's membership was made, Dumbledore didn't belabor the issue; instead, he turned the conversation to the matter of new Order members. Dumbledore mentioned that the Croaker's son, Rhun, was now of age (he had been a child during the last war) and would no doubt want to join his parents in the Order; Harry had no objection to this addition. They agreed that Professor Lively's field experience at fighting Death Eaters made her a natural choice for the Order, that Viktor Krum and Fleur Delacouer could provide valuable foreign perspectives, and that Madame Maxime, given her summer activities, deserved the chance to continue to work in the Resistance effort. Dumbledore noted that the Order had never been able to find representation from the House Elf community, and they quickly determined that Harry's unusual friend Dobby would be a welcome addition to the group. 

Since Harry had already gotten Dumbledore to agree to include Ron and Hermione, the door was open, for the first time in the Order's history, to membership for underage witches and wizards. When they decided to approach the adult Weasleys about joining, Harry raised the possibility of approaching Fred and George as well. "After all," he said, "They'll have their N.E.W.T.s at the end of this school year, and we'd want them to join then, so we might as well just ask them now and have them in from the start. Better to have us all, erm, on the same page." 

Professor Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully. "It does generally work best to involve everyone from the beginning. Even so, I am a bit uneasy about bringing in more student members than are absolutely necessary. I suppose if we have strict boundaries about the things that our underage members are allowed to do, we might be able to make it work." His mustache twitched a bit, and he added, "Although the Weasley twins are not exactly renowned for observing boundaries, however strict." Harry grinned wryly at this; when it came to bending rules, Fred and George were more inclined to beg forgiveness than to ask permission. After a pause, Dumbledore continued, "In addition, if we invite Fred and George Weasley to join the Order, we would certainly have to invite Virgina Weasley as well." At Harry's startled glance, he explained, "I doubt that Miss Weasley would take kindly to being the only member of her family left out of the Order."

Automatically, Harry protested, "But Ginny's so young." Dumbledore quirked an eyebrow at this statement, and Harry realised how foolish his words must seem to the Headmaster. Ginny was only a year younger than Harry, and, at her age, Harry had already faced Voldemort three times. Further, Harry realised with a jolt, Ginny herself had once faced Voldemort and had lived to tell the tale. This fact alone, as far as Harry was concerned, rendered Ginny deserving of a spot in the Order. Meeting Dumbledore's amused gaze, he amended, "Never mind. She's not too young. You're right, she should be in."

With characteristic incisiveness, the Headmaster replied, "It is often difficult to think of a young lady with six elder brothers as anything but young and in need of being kept safe. But Miss Weasley can take care of herself quite as well as any of her brothers." Harry nodded, accepting this mild—and well-deserved—rebuke. Dumbledore continued, "And I did not say that she should be in; I merely said that, _if_ we include her twin brothers, we should include her as well. I have not yet made up my mind about Fred and George." He sat for a moment, apparently deep in thought. Finally, he said, "Fred, George, and Virgina Weasley are all in danger from Lord Voldemort. Placing them in the Order might put them in further danger."

Harry nodded, for this was a fair point. "So either they can't be in the Order, or we have to make it so that letting them in the Order won't put them in more danger, right?" Dumbledore nodded. Suddenly, Harry had an idea. "You know how you were saying that we'd have to make some rules about what the students in the Order could do? Well, what if one of those rules was that we—the students, I mean—had to have extra Defence lessons—lessons made to help us get out of dangerous spots?"

Dumbledore leaned forward and looked intently at Harry. "What kind of lessons do you have in mind?"

"I dunno, like how to recognise a surprise attack—an unexpected Portkey, maybe. How to escape when you don't know how to Apparate." Harry shrugged, at loss for a more specific idea. "I reckon Professor Lively would know the kind of things that would help."

Professor Dumbledore nodded. "I like that idea very much, Harry. I will speak with Professor Lively about it. And I will speak with Arthur and Molly Weasley about allowing Fred, George, and Virginia into the Order." He nodded again as if glad to have things settled. "Can you think of anyone else who should be included in the Order?" When Harry shook his head, Professor Dumbledore said, "There are several students currently enrolled here at Hogwarts who have been directly hurt by Lord Voldemort and his followers: Mr. Longbottom, Miss Bones, Miss Chang, Mr. Stebbins—all the Hufflepuffs, really, but particularly Mr. Stebbins. He and Cedric were very close. In the past, I have been wary of letting in people whose main interest in defeating Voldemort would most likely be a desire to even the score. However, given the Ministry's attitude, I am tempted, this time, to bring in as many allies as we can. On the other hand, I do not want to bring into the Order members who might be more inclined to act rashly, to allow their emotions to carry them away, as those with personal grudges are often inclined to do. What do you think?" Harry shrugged, not sure which way would be best. Dumbledore thought for a moment, then said, "Not every individual who fights against Voldemort needs to be a member of the Order of the Phoenix, and, if all of the Weasleys join, we will already have more than thirty members. For now, let's not approach the students that I mentioned.

"Next, we need to contact our potential Order members. I suggest that I contact those individuals from outside Hogwarts—the adult Weasleys, the Ministry personnel, and so forth—and you contact those inside Hogwarts. I would, however, ask that you not approach Virgina Weasley or her twin brothers about joining until after I have their parents' permission." 

"What about Ron?" Harry asked. He wanted to go straight to Ron and Hermione after his talk with Dumbledore, and he hoped that the Headmaster would allow this.

"You may speak freely with Ron. I would not allow him to enter if his parents refuse their permission, but, in his case, I cannot imagine that they will. I believe they will understand how much his membership will mean to you."

Harry grinned, a little embarrassed at this spot-on reading of himself. If he couldn't have Ron in the Order, he didn't know how he'd manage. He started to agree to Dumbledore's division of labour, but then he thought of one person outside Hogwarts that perhaps he should contact himself. "Let me talk to Percy Weasley. Even if his heart wasn't really in it, I don't think he could say 'no' to you. If it's me, we'll know whether he really wants to do it." 

Professor Dumbledore nodded. "And, Harry, if you wish, I will speak with Professor Snape."

As much as he would have liked to accept this offer, Harry felt that he needed to talk with Snape himself. "No. I should do it." The sooner Snape faced up to the fact that joining the Order meant working with Harry, the better. Besides, if they were in the Order together, Harry would probably have to speak to Snape sometime—as he had not had to do since Snape stopped teaching Potions—and he felt he might as well get it over with. 

"As you wish," Professor Dumbledore replied, and Harry thought he could see a hint of pride and approval in his blue eyes. "We should have our first meeting as soon as we can—next Sunday afternoon, perhaps? You and I should meet beforehand to discuss the Binding Spell. At the meeting, we'll perform it, and then we'll start to discuss our strategy. Doing something about Azkaban will be a major priority given the escape of the LeStranges…." Harry interrupted Dumbledore with an exclamation of surprise. He hadn't heard about any Azkaban escapes. "Ah, yes," said the Headmaster, sounding wry, "I'd forgotten it wasn't common knowledge. The Ministry's very embarrassed about the whole thing, and they're trying to keep it quiet. It seems that someone walked right into Azkaban with the LeStrange's wands, and out they all Apparated. That's the best theory, anyway. The wands are missing from the storage facility, and the LeStranges are gone, so there it is. And, coincidentally enough, this happened on the night that your dream allowed us to avert disaster at the Granger residence."

""It was Lucius Malfoy, wasn't it?" said Harry immediately. "That's what he was supposed to do while Crabbe and Goyle went to kill Mr. and Mrs. Granger."

Dumbledore looked steadily at Harry. "There is, of course, no proof, but that is my suspicion as well."

Harry felt the sick swoop of anger that he always felt when he thought of Lucius Malfoy. "In some ways, he's more dangerous than Voldemort, isn't he? He can walk around in broad daylight, doing whatever he wants, and the Minister won't hear a word against him. It's sick. Somebody should do something. The Order should do something."

"We will, of course, discuss it at the meeting," Dumbledore said. "Perhaps some of our members will have some ideas for keeping an eye on Mr. Malfoy." Harry heard the faintest touch of amusement in Dumbledore's voice, and he guessed that Dumbledore wouldn't need the other members for creative ideas about ways to shorten Lucius Malfoy's leash. 

Their business finished, Dumbledore offered to walk Harry to Gryffindor Tower. On the way, they talked of other things—Professor Dumbledore was especially interested in hearing about Jigger's Potions lessons—but Harry's mind wasn't fully on their conversation. It was already in the Common Room, dragging Ron and Hermione off to a private spot to talk about the Order. The Order in which the three of them would be members, together. Finally, they were going to be a part of things.

Harry and Professor Dumbledore parted at the portrait of the Fat Lady. Harry climbed through the hole to find his friends and fill them in on the new opportunity that awaited them.

--

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A/N II: You could probably all figure this out for yourselves, but I still reckoned I'd better note it outright: Since this story and the ideas for it began before OotP was released, "my" portrayals of the Book 5 characters (particularly Harry, Dumbledore, Cho, and Ginny, I think, but probably others as well) now diverge pretty starkly from canon. After Book 4, there were several ways for characters to develop, and my thoughts and hopes for which of those ways some characters might take turned out to be pretty far from what JKR has in mind. "My" Harry isn't nearly so angry (not that he has, thus far, much to be angry about, in contrast to OotP Harry), my Dumbledore not so flawed and human, my Cho not so weepy, my Ginny (alas) not so spunky. The divergence between my characters and the Book Five folks is making me a little uneasy in spots, but I'm still going to try to stick to the interpretations of the characters that I began with. Just so you know….


	14. Gathering

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Author's Notes: So, only two months between chapters this time instead of five. Vast improvements. Um, yeah. Thanks to those of you who are sticking around, and thanks again to Yolanda for all her beta wonderfulness. 

Disclaimer: Not mine. JKR's. She makes the big bucks.

Chapter Fourteen: Gathering

They were in, of course. Harry had never doubted that they would be, never had a single moment's thought that either of his best friends would choose not to join the Order, and he had been correct in his certainty. But inviting Ron and Hermione into the Order had been the easy part, easy as breathing. The rest of the inviting, Harry knew, wouldn't be so easy. Approaching people, even people he knew and liked, and asking them to join one of the most important wizarding groups ever founded—it felt strange. It felt … _adult_. As he prepared to do his share of gathering Order members, Harry found himself understanding Dumbledore's words about wishing for more time—just a little more time to worry about Quidditch and Prefect duties and homework instead of Dark wizards and ancient magic. But he knew that the only way he—or anyone else in the wizarding world—would ever have the kind of time that he wanted was to take control of the Order now. After Voldemort was gone, he promised himself, everyone would have time for normal lives and normal worries.

Acting on the principle of getting the most disagreeable tasks over with first, Harry owled Percy Weasley and asked him to Floo. _A private matter_, he had said. _Don't Floo from work_. (With anyone but Percy, he wouldn't have had to specify this last, for no one else would have been working at the Ministry on a Saturday, but Harry wasn't sure that the word "weekend" was in Percy's vocabulary.) Percy had owled back immediately, his note characteristic:

Since I am sure you know how busy I am, I can only assume that the matter you wish to discuss is of vital importance. With that understanding, I will contact you by Floo tonight at 12, _ante meridiem_. Please take all necessary precautions to insure that our conversation is not overheard.

It was now 11:58, and Harry waited alone in the Gryffindor common room. Ron and Hermione (or "Necessary Precautions Alpha and Beta," as Ron had remarked in his best Percy voice) were guarding the boys' and girls' dormitories, making certain that no one wandered in while Harry and Percy were talking. Harry mentally rehearsed the conversation in his head, as he had been doing all day. Then, at midnight precisely, Percy's head appeared in the fire. "Good evening, Harry," he said. "What can I do for you?"

Harry regarded the head for a moment, contemplating this young man who was so different from the rest of his family—so prim, so precise, so dot-the-I's-and-cross-the-T's—and yet so like them in his stubbornness and conviction. He began to speak, hoping he had chosen the right tone. "There's a war coming, Percy. Voldemort's back." Blunt, to the point, no beating about the bush. 

Percy grimaced at the forbidden name and immediately replied, "The official Ministry position on rumours concerning You-Know-Who…."

"… is stupid and wrong," Harry interrupted. "And people may die because of it." He paused, waiting to see if Percy would dispute this claim. He didn't. Harry, taking this lack of argument as a positive sign, continued. "If you had the chance to join this war early and make a big difference—maybe even save some lives—would you do it? Would you do it if it meant you had to stop pretending to believe the Ministry's story?" 

"Now, see here, Harry," Percy began, and Harry sighed quietly. Any Percy speech that began with "Now, see here" couldn't be good. "…assure you that the Ministry is deeply committed to the safety …"

Again, Harry interrupted. "I'm not talking about the Ministry. I'm talking about _you_."

"I am a Ministry official," Percy replied stiffly. 

"You're also a Gryffindor. And a Weasley. And my friend." House pride, family pride, and ties of friendship. There were probably other things to which Harry could have appealed, but these struck him as most appropriate. 

"Yes. I am all ofthose things. However, none of those things changes the fact that I am also a Ministry official."

"And is being a Ministry official more important to you than the other things?" Harry asked.

"Why are you asking me this?" 

Harry filed away the fact that Percy had not answered his question, had tried to change the subject when asked if the Ministry were more important to him than his family and friends. Not a good sign. But he answered Percy anyway. "Because I want to ask you to do something, but it's something that would mean doing things that the Ministry probably wouldn't approve of." A vague reply, Harry knew, but he felt he had to be vague. If Percy proved unwilling to join the Order, it would be foolish and dangerous to inform him outright of its existence.

"It is not good practise for a young Ministry employee to engage in activities that the Ministry could not be expected to condone. The term 'career suicide' springs to mind." 

Was there a hint of irony in Percy's tone? Probably not; he wasn't usually the ironic type. Harry shrugged and nodded. There were many things he might have said—that there was more to life than a Ministry career, that Fudge's voice, though the loudest, was not the only one to which people in the Ministry listened, that the truth would come out in the end, at which time those who had been spouting the Ministry line would all look like proper fools—but he doubted that any of them would make a difference. Percy was casting his lot with the Ministry, and no further discussion would sway him. "All right, then," he said. "That's all I needed to know."

What was that look that Percy was giving him? Curiosity? Reproach? Apology? Harry couldn't tell. When he finally spoke, it was to ask, in a tone implying that he really didn't expect an answer, "What's this about?"

"You're probably better off not knowing," Harry answered. It would be both safer for the Order and kinder to Percy not to saddle him with information that could only prove a burden to him. Percy nodded as though this answer confirmed his expectations; he bid Harry good night, and his head disappeared from the fire. Harry sat and looked into the flames for a long moment before he rose to go up to his dormitory.

He shook his head in response to the questioning looks from Ron and Hermione. Their responses were as Harry might have predicted: Ron remarked, in an offhand, unsurprised tone, that Percy had always been a gigantic prat, and Hermione fussed at Ron for talking about his brother like that and added that Percy had as much right to make his own decisions as Ron did. Harry let them bicker amicably for a few minutes and then called a halt so that they could all go get some sleep. He was planning to face Snape the next day, and that would be bad enough without having been up all night.

*

Ron and Hermione drew lots to determine who would go with Harry to talk to Professor Snape; Ron lost, and he accompanied Harry to the dungeons. Harry peeked furtively into the Potions classroom and saw that Snape was there, mixing some foul-smelling concoction. Harry was faintly cheered to find him in the classroom; he had never seen the inside of Snape's private office, and he had no desire to do so. He nodded to Ron to show that Snape was there, straightened his shoulders, and prepared to knock. Ron gave him an encouraging punch on the arm and eased out of the doorway so as not to be Snape's line of sight; they had decided that Harry would speak to Snape alone. Harry took a deep breath, reminded himself to remain calm and not to let Snape's habitual rudeness bother him, and rapped firmly on the door. He obeyed the terse "Enter" and stood quietly, waiting to see whether Snape would throw him out on sight.

Professor Snape glanced up from his potion and grimaced when he saw Harry. "What do you want, Potter?" he said. He seemed distracted, like he couldn't even be bothered to put his characteristic venom into these words.

"I need to speak with you," Harry said, trying to sound firm but not confrontational. "Privately. May I close this door, please?" Snape grimaced again, a gesture that Harry decided to take as assent; Harry shut the door and moved closer to Snape and his bubbling cauldron. "You already know the details of the Order of the Phoenix, yes?" Snape grimaced yet again, and Harry continued, "Then you can probably guess why I'm here. I'd like to have you in the Order, if you're willing to work with us."

Snape looked at him expressionlessly for a moment. Finally, he said, "Albus made you come, didn't he?"

Harry shook his head. "Actually, Professor Dumbledore offered to come and see you for me. But I felt like I should do it myself."

Snape sneered. "How _noble_," he said, giving the word 'noble' derisive emphasis.

Harry felt a rush of annoyance. He took a deep breath, inwardly counted to ten, and fought the annoyance down, but he decided to call Snape on his snippy behaviour. In his calmest voice, he asked, "Why do you always do that?"

"Do what?" Snape asked, his tone clearly implying that he couldn't care less what the answer was.

"Treat good things like they're something to be sneered at." Snape stared at Harry for a moment with that same unreadable, expressionless look. When he didn't answer immediately, Harry elaborated. "You do it all the time. When Hermione and Ron follow me because they're worried about me, it's 'How _touching_ that Precious Potter's friends follow him around.' When I try to do the right thing even though it means talking to you when you've always treated me like dirt, it's 'How _noble_.' Why do you do that?"

"Mind your own business, Potter," Snape said with a scowl, but he lacked his usual decisiveness, and seemed to be busying himself with the potion so as not to have to meet Harry's eye.

"Actually, sir, it is my business." Snape's head shot up, a mixture of surprise and anger in his eyes, as though he couldn't believe that Harry dared to stand up to him. "As a Caster for the Order of the Phoenix, it's my job to choose members that I can trust. And I have a hard time trusting people when I can't understand why they do what they do." He added quietly, "Especially when what they do is the same thing that Voldemort does."

"How _dare_ you…" Snape began.

"Well, it's _true_," Harry snapped, his patience at an end. "Who's the one who always says that good things aren't really good and bad things aren't really bad? Voldemort. So when you're always acting like good things are bad, how am I supposed to believe that you're really on our side? How am I supposed to trust you when you think the same way that he does?" 

Snape stared at him, apparently either too angry or too shocked to speak. Finally, he said, "Don't presume to tell me what I think, Potter." 

"Fine. You tell me what you think, and I won't have to try to figure it out for myself. Why do you act like friendship and trying to do the right thing are bad?" Harry wasn't sure why he was insisting on this. He hadn't come here to argue with Snape; he'd just meant to ask him to join the Order, get his answer, and leave. But, for some reason he couldn't articulate, he felt like finding out the answer to this question was more important. 

As he and Snape stood and faced off and seconds ticked into minutes, the answer began to occur to him. "It's just because it's me, isn't it?" he said softly. "It's not that you think friendship is bad, or that doing the right thing is bad. It's just that you think whatever I do must be bad. When in doubt, sneer at Potter. Doesn't matter if it's the kind of thing that deserves to be sneered at, just sneer at it because he did it."

"You don't know what you're talking about, Potter," Snape said.

Harry sighed. "Of course I don't," he said with weary irony. "Famous Harry Potter never knows what he's talking about. Nothing Famous Harry Potter says is ever worth listening to. Forget it. I understand." He turned to leave. Over his shoulder, he said, "The first Order meeting is next Sunday, a week from today, in Dumbledore's office, just after dinner. I hope you'll join us." He left before Snape could reply, closing the door quietly behind him. 

"How was it?" Ron asked. 

Harry shook his head. "About like you'd expect. I don't know if he'll come, but I told him where and when. If he wants to do it, he'll come, and if he doesn't…." He shrugged.

"If he doesn't, it's no bloody great loss, the greasy git," Ron muttered darkly. Harry, though he knew how important Snape's knowledge might be, couldn't help agreeing. 

On the way back to the Common Room, the boys met Professor Dumbledore, who had news that provided a great lift to Harry's Snape-induced low spirits: Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had agreed to allow Ginny and the twins to join the Order. The good news helped Harry put his encounter with Snape out of his mind, and he and Ron hurried off to the common room to find the relevant Weasleys.

They found one relevant Weasley right away; Ginny was sitting with Hermione, listening intently as the older girl gestured expansively and talked very fast. "Hmm," Ron said, taking the tone of a researcher studying some particularly difficult specimen. "Big hand movements, fast speech pattern, no pauses for breath … must be either house-elves or homework help. Since Ginny doesn't look ready to die of boredom, we can rule out the elves." 

Harry snickered, and he barely managed to keep his face straight when, upon approaching the table, he caught sight of the fourth-year Transfiguration textbook on the table between the girls. He made a mental note to tease Ron about how good Ron had become at predicting Hermione's behaviour, but he reckoned now wasn't the best time for that. He slid into the seat across from Ginny and waited for Hermione to complete her lecture on the finer points of turning hedgehogs into pincushions. When she finally finished, the four students chatted for a few minutes, and then Harry turned the conversation to the Order. Very quietly, he gave Ginny a brief explanation of the history and purpose of the Order and invited her to join, adding Professor Dumbledore's news that her parents had already given their permission. 

Ginny agreed with almost as much alacrity as had Ron and Hermione and expressed her relief at finding out "what you three were acting so weird about all weekend." When Harry asked where the twins were, she rolled her eyes and sighed with fond exasperation. "Off with Lee. I reckon they're either working on something new for the joke shop or coming up with creative ways to lose House points." 

Harry said he'd catch up with the twins later, and Hermione returned to the topic of homework. After minimal nagging, Harry and Ron went to fetch their Defense assignments. They spent the rest of the afternoon reading up on duelling methods.

*

The talk with the twins went well, as expected, and Harry's other conversations with prospective members of the Order of the Phoenix were similarly satisfactory. A quick word with McGonagall and Hagrid, longer talks with Lively, Krum, Fleur Delacour, and a very excited Dobby, and that was that. By midday on Wednesday, Harry's part of the contacting was done, and everyone except Percy and Snape was definitely on board. Harry met with Professor Dumbledore on Thursday night to discuss the Binding Charm and learned that Dumbledore's conversations were going as well as Harry's own; everyone would be there for the meeting on Sunday. 

When he stopped to think about it, Harry decided that his main feeling toward the meeting was nervous excitement. Of course, he'd have preferred for the world to be other than it was—for Voldemort not to be back, for the Ministry not to be in denial, and so on—but, given the givens, it felt good to be doing something instead of sitting around waiting for the Death Eaters to strike a blow. 

The usual school activities carried Harry through the rest of the week and through most of the weekend, and meeting time finally arrived. The hour immediately after Sunday dinner found Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and the twins gathered before the entrance to Dumbledore's office. 

"Canary Cream," Harry said to the gargoyle, which opened obediently. The students stepped onto the spiral staircase and rode up to Dumbledore's quarters. The door was already open, so they walked straight in.

The circular office felt more crowded than usual. Dumbledore's desk had been moved out, and a massive, round wooden table stood in the centre of the room, taking up nearly all the floor space. Dumbledore was already seated at the table. He briefly paused in his conversation with Professor McGonagall, seated at his right, to greet the new arrivals. A few seats to his left was a man that Harry didn't know—a dark man with a thin, grim face. Since he was seated, Harry couldn't tell for certain, but he looked tall, and Harry guessed that he'd be in his middle forties. Next to the dark man sat a small, elderly woman who was crocheting something large and unidentifiable. Harry's jaw dropped as he recognised her. "Mrs. … Mrs. Figg?" he stammered.

"Hello, dear," the woman replied. "Nice to see you again." It _was_ Mrs. Figg. But what could the Dursleys' neighbor have to do with anything in the magical world?

"But you're a Muggle," Harry blurted. 

Mrs. Figg smiled. "Yes, dear. But Mr. Figg, rest his soul, was a wizard. And our children are all magical, and Professor Dumbledore was so kind to them all when they were students here. So, when he asked me if I could be his … what did you call it, Albus, your Muggle guru? Well, of course, I couldn't refuse."

Dumbledore added, "Arabella has been one of my most valuable contacts in the Muggle world. She keeps me informed of anything out of the ordinary."

Suddenly, things clicked for Harry. "And she keeps an eye on the Dursleys, doesn't she? And on me, when I'm there." 

Dumbledore nodded. It looked like he was about to say more, but Fawkes, who had been drooping on his perch, suddenly burst into flames. Dumbledore hurried to move his coat rack out of the line of fire, murmuring, "Oh, dear. Burning Day already. I thought it was tomorrow." 

"Barking," Ron muttered. "Completely, absolutely, utterly mad." He silenced at Hermione's glare, and the six students sat down at the opposite side of the table; Professor Dumbledore had asked Harry to sit directly across from him. Dumbledore waited for Fawkes to rise from his ashes. Then, after hehelped the fledging settle back onto its perch, he returned to his seat. Gradually, the other seats at the table filled as more people trickled into the room. At the last possible moment, when Harry had all but decided that he wouldn't show, Professor Snape swept into the room.

"Ah, Severus," Dumbledore said. "Just close the door there behind you; I think we're all here." Snape closed the door and slid into the seat directly to Dumbledore's left, and the room, which had been buzzing with the noise of multiple conversations, fell silent as everyone waited for Dumbledore to begin. "The purpose of this meeting is to make sure that everyone knows all of the relevant information about Lord Voldemort's activities. Some of you have information gathered from tasks that you've done for me over the summer. Others have, so to speak, eyewitness accounts." The headmaster's eyes met Harry's for a moment. "And those are accounts that everyone needs to hear. Some of you don't have information for the rest of us, but you need the information that the others have so that you will be prepared for upcoming tasks. Before we get into details, though, I think that some of you are not acquainted with one another. I suppose we should go around the table and introduce ourselves. Severus, why don't you begin?"

Snape grudgingly admitted to being the Hogwarts Potions master, adding that he was taking time off from the classroom this year to write a textbook. The introductions continued around the table, and Harry only paid particular attention to the folks he didn't know. He learned that the dark man he'd noticed on his way in was John Kimble, the head of the Aurors. He was not there in his official capacity, which was to say that he, like Arthur Weasley, was not prone to sharing Order business with the Ministry. Harry decided that he liked Kimble in spite of the Auror's grim face and brusque way of speaking, for he radiated competence, and he seemed like someone who had no patience for nonsense.

Mundungus Fletcher seemed much less tightly-wound than Kimble, but Harry liked him, too, mostly for his infectious spark of humour. When he wasn't joining rescue missions with Remus and Sirius at all hours of the night, Fletcher was a pubkeeper, and he also ran a mail-order service selling rare magical books. He acted as something of a spy for Professor Dumbledore, a role that he was uniquely suited to fill because of, as he put it, "a reputation for trouble-making. It makes people inclined to say things to me that they might not confess to pillars of the community. And everyone witters on to barmen; it's a known job hazard."

The Croakers, Amelia, Celwyn, and Rhun, seemed nice as well. Harry learned that Amelia was an Assessor for the Ministry's Department of Education, which awarded O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s, and that Rhun was reading Law at a Muggle university.

Dumbledore finished off the introductions. "And I am Albus Dumbledore, the current headmaster of Hogwarts. I am the other Caster for the Order. Speaking of which, I suppose we should perform the Binding Charm now. Before we do, I should let you know that this is your chance to change your mind. If any of you have doubts about whether you want to join the Order, speak now. It is a difficult and dangerous task that you are undertaking, and I would be guilty of serious negligence if I did not remind you of the dangers. For our student members: You will not usually be asked to face the sort of dangers that your adult counterparts may have to face. To the extent that we can, we will protect you from direct contact with Voldemort and his Death Eaters. However, your road is still not an easy one. You will be expected to treat your extra Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons very seriously—perhaps more seriously than you have ever been expected to treat any other course of study. You will have to keep the information that you learn from the Order completely secret from other students; this necessity for secrecy may have a negative impact on your relationships with students outside the Order. Your friends, your teammates, your romantic interests—none of them can be told the confidential things that you learn here." Dumbledore's eyes locked with Harry's again, and he continued, "You will all have to learn to keep to your own counsel even in the face of taunts and attempts to trick you into revealing that you know things. Several students in our school now are known to have parents who are supportive of Lord Voldemort; you must be careful not to allow any cruel and hurtful things that these students say to pierce your armour. Information revealed to an enemy in a moment of thoughtless anger is just as dangerous and damaging as information revealed through cold calculation." 

Dumbledore paused briefly, and Harry and Ron shared a guilty glance; Harry knew that they were both thinking about what they had wanted to do to Malfoy and his goons after the thwarted attack on Mr. and Mrs. Granger. His resolution not to allow Draco Malfoy to get under his skin would now be even more important.

Professor Dumbledore continued, "I emphasize this to our student members, but it is equally important for the adults. Those of you who work in the Ministry will have to be particularly careful not to appear to know things that you would not be expected to know. Some of you will have to dissemble to members of your own families," (Here Harry could see Mrs. Weasley looking pained and Fred and George looking angry.) "and others will have to be careful around your friends. In addition, our adult members may be asked to come face to face with Voldemort or his minions. I suggest that you all brush up on your Defence skills.

"And then there is the Binding itself. All of us will be Bound to one another in rather peculiar ways. If you find yourself in difficulties, you will be able to send a call for help to the other Order members no matter where you are, and they will be able to reach you, in some form or other, even through magical barriers to things like communication and Apparation. You will notice that Communication Charms will be particularly easy to establish between yourself and another Order member, and you may have difficulty establishing Communication Charms with people who are not in the Order. You will be able to access one another's reserves of energy. You may also notice other effects that are less definite and less concrete: a heightened sensitivity to the moods of your fellow Order members, a quicker grasp of one another's trains of thought. The connections established by the Binding are often some of the most intimate and intense that most people ever experience. It can be a bit of a shock to the system. If you are not mentally and emotionally prepared to be Bound to one another in the ways that I have mentioned, you should speak up now."

The headmaster paused for a long moment and looked around the table, making eye contact with each prospective member of the Order. After Dumbledore shifted his gaze from Harry to Ron, Harry shifted his own focus to Professor Snape. Snape's cold, black eyes met Harry's own, and Harry had to struggle to keep his expression from changing. The thought of sharing a deep, personal connection with this vengeful, bitter, unpleasant creature filled Harry with a revulsion that nearly made him physically ill. Could he do it? _Should_ he do it? For what seemed like the millionth time, Harry inwardly questioned his decision to invite Snape into the Order.

And, for what seemed like the millionth time, Harry reminded himself that the dislike he felt for Snape was matched—and probably surpassed—by the dislike that Snape felt for him. But Snape was here in spite of that dislike. Snape knew what the Binding spell entailed. He had previously been Bound to James Potter, whom he had hated and who had hated him, in precisely the way that he was preparing to be Bound to James's son, and he considered the ordeal worth repeating. Harry felt himself sit up a little straighter, his eyes still locked with Snape's, as his resolve strengthened. If forming a magical Bond with Snape was what it took to defeat Voldemort, then that was bloody well what he'd do. He nodded once to Snape as if to say, "I can stand it if you can," and then he broke their eye contact and went back to watching Professor Dumbledore, who was just completing his long, searching glance around the table. He asked, "Before we perform the Binding Charm, does anyone have any questions?"

Unsurprisingly, Hermione was the first to raise a hand. "I have several questions, actually, all related to what you said about being able to tap into one another's reserves of energy. How does that work? Is it something we have to do consciously, or will it happen by itself when we need it to happen? Will we be tapping into the reserves of all of the members collectively, or will we be tapping into the reserves of just one member at a time? Will we be able to perform types of magic that other members can perform but that we can't? For example, will those of us who aren't Animagi be able to turn into cats if we tap into Professor McGonagall's energy?" Hermione paused for breath. "I think that's all," she finished. Harry and Ron exchanged good-natured eye-rolls; only Hermione would end a five-part question with "that's all." 

"Excellent questions, Miss Granger," Professor Dumbledore said. "The short answer is that the Bond works differently for each individual, and it works differently in different situations. Sometimes, it works unconsciously. Last time, Remus was ambushed and Stunned once by a group of Death Eaters; the rest of the Order was immediately alerted through the Bond even though Remus hadn't been able to send out a call for help. It's difficult to explain how the alert feels when you receive it. It's just an immediate and complete knowledge of the situation. In the case that I mentioned, every other Order member immediately knew that Remus was in trouble, and we knew where he was and how to get there to help. 

"Other times, you will consciously call on the Bond. When you do it consciously, you have much more control over the process; you can call on a particular member or group of members, or you can call on the entire Order. You can tap into the group's collective energy, or you can tap into a specific member's energy. You'd usually tap into the group's energy if, for instance, you just need an extra boost of magical power in general—if, in other words, you needed for all of your spells to be a bit stronger, but you didn't need help in any particular area. If, however, you knew that you were going to be performing a particularly tricky bit of some specific type of magic, you might call only on a few individuals. If, for instance, you needed to brew a potion that was more difficult than you would usually be able to manage, you might call on your Bond with Severus. If you were going to have to perform a difficult piece of Transfiguration, you might call on Minerva or me, or on both of us. That extra energy will enable you to perform more complicated magic than you could otherwise perform, but only to a certain degree. For instance, let's say that you need to transfigure your robes into Muggle clothing, and you're having trouble getting a piece of it right—the buttons don't line up with the buttonholes, or the pattern goes wrong, or what have you; tapping into Minerva's energy would probably allow you to complete that transfiguration successfully—in other words, to make the buttons align properly. However, tapping into Minerva's energy would not allow you to become an Animagus on demand. 

"Tapping into another person's energy can, however, make it easier to learn new spells that the other person knows. You won't be able to perform the new spells on the first try, but you may have an easier time of mastering them than you would otherwise have. For instance, if any of you who are not Animagi decided to try to become an Animagus, you might tap into Minerva's energy while you were studying the spell, and that boost of energy from her would likely make it easier for you. Or, if any of our students who do not already know the Patronus charm decide to try to learn it, you might tap into Harry's energy in order to master the charm more quickly. In short, the Bond can make learning new skills easier, but it cannot give you instant access to skills that you don't already possess.

"As for whether you can feel someone tapping into your energy, the short answer is yes. The slightly longer answer is that you'll notice, and you'll be able to tell which member or members is tapping in, but your own ability to perform spells or to function normally shouldn't be adversely affected. Order members can check up on one another through the Bond, but you can temporarily block the mutual surveillance portion of the charm when you'd rather not have an audience. Also, you needn't worry about other Order members tapping into your private thoughts: the Bond doesn't allow for mind-reading without the consensual invocation of a Communication Charm."

Harry felt relieved at this last piece of information; chosen defenders of Light or not, he still didn't want people reading his mind. Harry glanced over at Ron, and he didn't need a Mind-reading Charm to see that his best friend was just as relieved as he was at hearing that their private thoughts would remain private. 

Harry refocussed his attention on Professor Dumbledore, who was asking if there were any further questions. There were not. "In that case," said the Headmaster, "I suppose we should perform the Charm." Glancing just over Harry's head, he said, "Fawkes, if you don't mind…."

The phoenix, who had by now managed to grow a faint, fuzzy proto-plumage, Disapparated from his perch and reappeared on the chandelier that hung over the centre of the table. Dumbledore nodded. "Very good. Would everyone stand, please. Are you ready, Mr. Potter?"

Harry nodded, his mouth dry. Dumbledore pulled an ancient-looking, tattered piece of parchment from a stack in front of him and Banished it toward Harry, who hoped that no one noticed that the hand with which he caught the parchment was shaking ever so slightly. Harry placed the parchment, which contained the incantation for the Binding Spell, on the table in front of him. He and Dumbledore had been over the incantation already, but it was long and complex, and Harry was glad to have a crib sheet just in case. He met Dumbledore's eyes across the table, and the Headmaster inclined his head slightly as though bowing to a duelling opponent. Harry and Dumbledore raised their wands, pointed them toward Fawkes, and began to speak the words of the incantation, alternating some lines and speaking others in unison:

__

By strength and courage,

By valour and duty,

__

By friendship and loyalty,

By prudence and wisdom—

****

By all of these, we Bind you. 

Through time and space, 

__

Through darkness and light,

Through ease and strife,

__

Through hardship and plenty—

****

Through all of these, we Bind you.

In your moment of need,

__

In your hour of woe,

In the eye of the storm,

__

In the days of darkness—

****

In all of these, we Bind you.

May the power of the phoenix protect you for all of your days.

__

Adunare!

On the final word of the incantation, a bolt of pure-white light shot from each of the Casters' wands. The two bolts hit Fawkes at the same moment; he instantly transformed from the not-quite-feathered hatchling into his thick-plumed, full-grown radiance. The bolts of light broke into fragments as though refracted through a prism, and the resulting colored beams formed a web that stretched itself over the table and enveloped the members of the Order of the Phoenix. Harry could feel one strand of the web touching the top of his head, making his hair stand on end like a bolt of lightning. From the point where the beam touched his head, other beams shot out toward the other Order members. Soon, there was a complicated net of white light inside the enveloping rainbow-hued web; this net connected every member of the Order with every other member. One at a time, almost too fast to see, each white strand glowed red; when the strands connecting Harry to another member glowed, he could feel the other person's energy in his very bones. It was almost enough to make him believe in Professor Trelawney's ramblings about auras.

Then, the strands of the net all flashed together, their light so bright that it might have made Harry shield his eyes if he had been able to move. But he couldn't move; he couldn't even breathe. The spell had him entirely in its grasp, and he could feel the power of Gwenhwyfar Gryffindor's ancient magic in every cell and nerve and sinew. The effect was dominating, intoxicating, and more than a little terrifying; if the Cruciatus Curse had been aimed to induce euphoria instead of at pain, it would have felt like this. 

All of this had happened in less time than it takes to tell; in the next instant, the colored beams of the enveloping web exploded like silent fireworks, and the white strands connecting the Order members vanished. The spell had finished its work. Harry fell back into his chair, feeling both happier and more exhausted than he had ever felt before. He'd thought that learning the Patronus charm had drained him; he'd been wrong. Fighting Dementors was simpler than _Wingardum Leviosa_ compared with this. He cast his slightly-unfocussed gaze across the table at his fellow Caster and saw that there was faint sheen of perspiration on Dumbledore's brow. But his smile was as bright as ever, and his eyes were so full of pride that it might have made Harry blush if his body hadn't been too tired to move the blood up to his cheeks. Harry returned the smile and then leaned back more heavily into his chair, closed his eyes, and waited for his breathing to return to normal.

Mad-Eye Moody was the first to speak. "Why'd we bond with your dog, Lupin?" 

Harry, still half-lying in his chair with his eyes shut, felt some part of his consciousness stretch itself toward Moody. _Suspicious—more so than usual, I mean—and somewhere between resentful, angry, and hurt at not having been told the full story_. It didn't feel accurate to Harry to say that _he_ had thought this assessment of Moody's emotional state; it was like the assessment had thought itself and then placed the thought into Harry's head. When his eyes snapped open, Harry found both of Moody's own boring into them. He smiled a touch sheepishly at the ex-Auror. _So that's the Bond_, he thought. 

Focussing this time, Harry sent that same part of his consciousness toward Remus. _A little concerned, but for Sirius rather than for himself, and more amused than anything else. And can he always feel the moon in his blood like that?_ Harry pulled the piece of himself back, not wanting to intrude too deeply. He turned his attention to Professor Dumbledore.

Dumbledore was smiling at Moody. "I might have expected you to notice the particular pathways of the Bond, Alastor. At the beginning of the meeting, I said that today would be a chance for us to exchange information. The first piece of information that needs to be exchanged is the true identity of Remus's dog. Sirius, if you would…."

All eyes turned toward the dog, who promptly turned into the most famous convict in the wizarding world. 


	15. Strategies

Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me.

Author's Note: Thanks to all those who reviewed the last chapter (which was posted a disgracefully long time ago—sorry, again). Thanks also to Yolanda for her sharp-eyed beta-reading.

Oh, by the way, I made a goof in the last chapter and called Mrs. Croaker "Amelia." She's not Amelia; she's Winifred. I must have had Amelia Bones on the brain.

TSS

Chapter 15—Strategies

Before Harry had time to register what was happening, Dumbledore was holding three extra wands, and the current and former Aurors were looking extremely sheepish. "Old habits die hard," Professor Lively said as the Headmaster Banished her wand back to her.

"Indeed," Dumbledore agreed with a smile. "And your quick reactions are quite impressive, all of you. However, I can assure you that you will not need to duel with Mr. Black. He is on our side."

John Kimble and Sirius stared at one another, each looking as if he were trying to read the other's mind. Harry tentatively felt along his Bond with each man, and he realised that their Bond was deeply engaged; they were using it to try to feel one another out. Finally, Kimble spoke. "You're innocent, aren't you."

It wasn't a question, not really, but Sirius answered nonetheless. "In the legal sense, anyway."

"Then your name will be cleared," the Auror replied.

Harry couldn't have explained why, but something about the way Kimble spoke filled him with complete confidence. Sirius's name _would_ be cleared. Kimble would clear it through sheer force of will.

Sirius smiled, nodded, and eased into the chair that Dumbledore had conjured between Remus and Dobby. Dumbledore let the charged silence reign for a few moments before he spoke. "Sirius, I believe now is the time for you to tell your story to the group."

And Sirius did. For background information, he told how three schoolboys became unregistered Animagi. Then, he told of the dark days near the end of Voldemort's reign. He told of the worries about a spy somewhere close to the Potters, of the change in Secret-Keepers, of Pettigrew's treachery. He told of hunting his old friend through the alleys of London, of finding him on a busy street in the Muggle part of town. "I thought I'd trapped the rat, but the rat trapped me," he said bitterly, concluding that part of his story.

"Skip ahead twelve years. I found out that Wormtail was at Hogwarts, and I knew I had to go after him again."

Nine months of sneaking around the Hogwarts grounds. Showdowns, captures, reprieves, escapes. Oh, yes, and a hippogriff. The Order believed him, of course; aside from the Bond's testament to the story's truth, it was all too crazy to be fiction.

Harry had stared at the table, too stricken with guilt to meet the eyes of the other Order members, when Sirius told the group why he had let Pettigrew live, but the feelings that came to him along the Bond were not those of blame. They were impressed, his fellow Order members. They would not rebuke him for his compassion.

Even Snape had no sneer for Harry at the moment. He turned the sneer on Lupin and Sirius instead, goading them with, "I'd have thought even a werewolf and a murderer would have had the sense to Stun a suspect until they got him into Ministry custody." "And I'd have thought even a slimy-haired Death-Eater scum would know that Stunning spells are unreliable on Animagi," Sirius spat back.

Professor Dumbledore broke in before the fight could escalate. "Enough, gentlemen. Sirius, Severus is no longer a Death Eater. Severus, Sirius never was a murderer. You would both do well to practise a bit more accuracy in your speech … to say nothing of civility." He fixed each man with his I-expect-better-of-you stare and then moved the meeting along. "Now that Sirius has told his story, I suppose it is time for you to tell yours, Harry."

Harry swallowed hard and steeled himself for the ordeal. He'd already told the story twice—once to Dumbledore and Sirius and once to Ron and Hermione—but he doubted that time and practise would make it much easier to relive that awful night.

They didn't. It was still awful. Harry tried not to listen to the words that he was saying. As he spoke, he stared at the ceiling, at the table, at the bookshelves—anywhere to keep from meeting the eyes of his fellow Order members. If he had to face the horror and pity and sympathy that he knew he'd see in their eyes, he would crack. So he looked away and thought of other things.

Back at the end of his first year, he'd faced Voldemort and lived, as they say, to tell the tale. And he'd _enjoyed_ telling the tale. Sitting in the hospital wing, surrounded by Ron, Hermione, and enough sweets to make Honeydukes proud, he had relished his tale of the man with two faces. If things had gone differently in the graveyard—if Voldemort had seemed gone again, as he had seemed gone after the encounter with the Philosopher's Stone—would Harry's current tale have given him equal pleasure? Would Cedric's death have mattered as little to him as Quirrell's had if only the ending had turned out differently? These questions flashed though Harry's mind as he told of Death Eaters and Dark spells, of phoenix song and strange wand effects. He pushed them away, not ready to face them.

Finally, it was over. His story was told. The room was silent for a long time, and Harry could feel a whirl of thoughts and emotions coursing along the Bond. He blocked them out as best he could.

It was Dumbledore, of course, who broke the silence. "Thank you, Harry. I know that was difficult." He paused, then continued in a more businesslike tone. "Harry's account brings us up though June. From June until mid-September, Voldemort was rather quiet. He's lying low. There were a few events this summer, though, that I believe are linked to his return. I refer to the disappearances of some Ministry workers. John, what do you know about those incidents?"

"Precious little," replied Kimble, sounding vexed. "They just vanished from their homes. No signs of struggle or forced entry at any location. Just vanished."

"And do you think they disappeared one at a time, or all at the same time?" Dumbledore asked.

"We can't be sure," Kimble said. "There was a five-hour block of time when all three were alone, which is plenty of time for each to have vanished separately. Althea Simmons's husband and daughter were gone to the zoo—Althea having apparently stayed home to catch up on some work—and they were out for most of the day. Butler Innisfree lived … _lives_ … alone, but, based on the testimony of neighbors and family, we can place his disappearance some time between seven in the morning and six in the evening. Ewan Tydfil-Cynon's disappearance is the one we can pinpoint most exactly, and it's the most … disconcerting. He went into the kitchen to make tea at about four o'clock in the afternoon. When he hadn't returned after fifteen minutes, his wife went to check on him, and he was gone."

Kimble's voice stayed even as he reported the last disappearance, but Harry could feel the Auror's agitation through the Bond. Though he might hide it well, Kimble was clearly disturbed by the vanishing of Ewan Tydfil-Cynon. Harry had also noticed the instinctive way that Kimble had referred to Butler Innisfree in the past tense, and the vehemence with which he had corrected himself, as though trying to convince himself that past tense wasn't yet necessary. But the slip had confirmed Harry's suspicion that the missing workers were presumed dead. He thought of young Rachel Simmons, and he squirmed inwardly. Pushing the morbid thoughts from his mind, he refocussed on what Kimble was saying.

"… know Basil, he's with Transportation, and he's completely trustworthy—he said that the signs of Portkey activity at Ewan's could have been traces left over from Saturday, when Ewan had to create an emergency Portkey to get to the site of that splinching in Devon. The tracing spells aren't very precise: they can tell us that there has been Portkey activity recently, but they can't pinpoint the time of use, and they can't tell us how many Portkeys have been used or how many people travelled. And there was no sign of Portkey activity at Althea's or Butler's."

"Immobilizing spells?" Professor Lively asked.

"None that we could trace," Kimble said. "For what that's worth…."

"…which isn't much, given that only Stunners are traceable with any consistency," Lively said, picking up Kimble's thought.

The Auror gave Lively a look that Harry couldn't read but that the Bond informed him was approving. "Right. We usually can't pick up _Petrificus Totalus_, much less other immobilizing spells."

"So you've got nothing." Moody's matter-of-fact growl summed up the situation.

Kimble shrugged ruefully, not bothering to be offended at Mad-Eye's assessment. "Yeah, pretty much. I've still got a team assigned to the case, but the trail's cold, and they haven't picked up a new lead in months. Barring a miracle, I don't like our chances on this one."

No one replied to Kimble's bleak pronouncement; there didn't seem to be anything to say. Dumbledore, deciding that the topic of the missing Ministry workers had been exhausted for now, moved on to Hagrid and Madame Maxime's summer task. Hagrid reported on their negotiations with the giants, finishing by explaining the promise of neutrality that they had managed to secure. Then, discussion turned to the thwarted attack on the Grangers. For the sake of those who hadn't heard it yet, Harry told the Order members about his dream, and then Remus related the story of the Death Eaters' capture.

Dumbledore picked up the thread when Lupin had finished. "We knew from Harry's dream that the attack on the Grangers was intended mainly as a diversion, but we didn't know what it was supposed to be diverting us _from_. We pieced that together after John informed me of the Azkaban escape. Though we cannot prove it, I have little doubt that Lucius Malfoy arranged the escape of Bellatrix and Rodolphus LeStrange. Which brings us to the next item of business:planning. We must not be content merely to react to Voldemort's actions; we must take direct action of our own. However, the official Ministry line regarding Voldemort's return severely limits our range ofaction. We must act, but we must act quietly.

"As I see it, our first priority should be to trace the movements of known Death Eaters as much as we can. By doing that, we may be able to predict—and thus to thwart—some of Voldemort's plans. Does anyone have suggestions for ways to do this?"

Heads turned toward Kimble, as if everyone expected the head of the Aurors to have the answer to a logistical question like this one, but it was the woman beside him who spoke. "We need a new spell, don't we?" Professor Lively said. "One that the Ministry wouldn't recognise if it somehow came to their attention." Professor Dumbledore nodded, and she continued, as if thinking out loud, "Something that would let us follow more than one person at a time without individual surveillance. Something that's with them all the time." She thought for a moment and then said, "How does Voldemort Summon the Death Eaters?"

The Order Members all either looked at Snape or looked at the table to avoid looking at Snape. Harry sensed a spike of annoyance and … something else along his Bond with Snape. The other emotion was stifled so quickly that Harry barely had time to identify it: shame. The shame surprised Harry; he hadn't known that Snape was capable of admitting, even to himself, that he wasn't always right. When he spoke, Snape's voice was even more scornful than usual, and Harry realised that this extra scorn was meant to cover his discomfort. He snapped at Lively, "I thought even the woefully incompetent Aurors that you worked with knew, Miss Lively, that Death Eaters are summoned through their Dark Marks."

A few people shifted uncomfortably at Snape's rudeness, but Lively didn't seem offended. If anything, she sounded exasperatedly amused, as one would be at a child who had missed the point of a seemingly-obvious question that you had asked him. "Yes, Severus, everyone knows _that_, but we only know the effect, not the cause. We know that the Dark Mark burns, and what makes it burn? What's the activating spell?"

Snape looked sour. "I was never with him when he did the Summoning," he replied. Harry supposed that was as close as Snape would come to admitting that he didn't know.

"In the graveyard, he put his finger on Wormtail's Mark," Harry volunteered. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Snape glaring at him, and he felt a stab of annoyance. _Self-centred git_, he thought. He ignored Snape, focussing instead on Professor Lively, whose eyes had lit up at his answer.

"What happened when he touched Pettigrew's Mark?" she asked.

"It turned black, and Pettigrew screamed," Harry told her. "Like it really hurt." He tried to push away the memory of Voldemort's cold, high-pitched, amused voice drawling _the other arm, Wormtail_—and to ignore the nasty little part of his mind that was vindictively glad at the thought of Pettigrew experiencing pain. "Within five minutes, the Death Eaters started Apparating to him."

Lively had a slightly maniacal glint in her eye that reminded him of Hermione when she was on the verge of solving something. "He touched Pettigrew's Mark. Does he have a Mark of his own?"

"I didn't see one," Harry said, "but I didn't get a very close look at the skin on his arms." _As I was a bit preoccupied at the time, what with being tied to a tombstone waiting to die_, he added silently.

Lively looked at Snape for corroboration. "If he has one, I am not aware of it," Snape said, his tone making it clear that, if he wasn't aware of something, it wasn't much worth being aware of.

"All right," Lively said, the glint still in her eye, "if he doesn't have a Mark, but all the Death Eaters do, then we ought to be able to track them using the Marks without him knowing about it. If we can just create the right spell…."

John Kimble looked ready to propose marriage to Professor Lively. "What do you need from me to make that happen?" he asked.

"That Crouch boy," Lively said. "Is he still technically alive?" Kimble nodded. "At St. Mungo's, I presume? Could he … _disappear_ from St. Mungo's for a while without people asking questions?"

"You need him?" Kimble asked.

"I need two people with Marks to work on—one to test the spells on, and the other to tell me whether my spells are sending any messages to other owners of a Mark," she replied.

"I can have him to you as soon as you want," Kimble promised.

"What else do you need for this project, Artemis?" Professor Dumbledore asked.

"Just a secure place to keep Crouch until we get it ironed out," she said. "And, if I could have Professor Flitwick assist, that would be wonderful." Dumbledore nodded his approval. "And Severus, of course," she added, nodding politely at Snape. Snape, still looking sour, jerked his head once in acknowledgment.

"Very good," Professor Dumbledore said. "Now, does anyone have a plan that we can put in motion until Artemis works out a Tracking Charm?"

"I can take care of Macnair," Kimble offered. "I'll tell his Department Head I need him for a special project and then send him off somewhere too far to Apparate back."

"Excellent." The Headmaster's eyes twinkled, and Harry smiled to himself at the idea of one of Voldemort's most vicious Death Eaters being sent on a wild goose chase for months at a time.

"What about Malfoy?" Sirius asked. "He's the one who's been causing the most trouble."

Professor Dumbledore smiled. "Actually, we're already tracing his mail. Somehow, his post owl got charmed to bring all incoming and outgoing mail to me before taking it to the intended recipient. And the charm appears to be contagious, because other post owls bound for Malfoy Manor have started doing it as well. Can't imagine how it happened. Reminds me of an odd incident in your school days," he finished, shooting Sirius a significant look. Sirius and Remus exchanged smiles, and Snape gave them one of his most poisonous glares. Harry made a mental note to ask Sirius about it later.

"His post has told us a few interesting things—that is, once John had his code-breakers look at it—but it seems that most important information gets passed face to face, either in person or by Floo," Dumbledore continued. "John, how are you progressing on the Floo monitoring?"

"Still working on it," Kimble answered. "So far, I haven't found a way to by-pass the Department of Magical Communication, and there are some hard-line Fudge sympathisers in that Department, so it's too big a risk if we can't do it without letting them know. All Ministry Floos are monitored, of course, so we know Macnair isn't doing any talking from the office. I've managed to put Eavesdropping Charms on his home Floo connections as well. I've also charmed the home connections of Nott and Avery. Didn't bother with Crabbe and Goyle, since they're already safely in Azkaban. But I can't get Malfoy. His house is enormous, so there are lots of fireplaces, and therefore lots of Floo connections. That many Eavesdropping Charms would get noticed. If I knew which ones he's most likely to use, I'd just charm those, but I have no way of knowing which they are." Kimble looked frustrated.

Beside Harry, Dobby began to bounce. Finally, he squeaked, "If Mr. John Kimble pleases, sir, Dobby was working for nasty Mr. Malfoy once. Dobby could tell Mr. John Kimble which fireplaces nasty Mr. Malfoy was using for talking to his bad, Dark friends."

Kimble smiled gratefully at the elf. "Could you, Dobby? If I can send over the blueprint of the Floo connections from Magical Communication, can you mark the ones that he uses?"

"Yes, sir, Mr. John Kimble, sir. Dobby can do that."

"Perfect. I'll slip in and copy the blueprint as soon as I leave today. I'll owl it over right away, Albus."

"Very good," Dumbledore said. "Now, does anyone have any other suggestions for monitoring or impeding the activities of the known Death Eaters?" No one did, so he said, "I suppose all that we have left to do is to go over our own tasks to complete by the time of the next meeting. First, we need to set up defence lessons for our junior members. Artemis, you are in charge of those. Do you foresee needing help from any of the other adult members in the near future?"

Professor Lively considered that for a moment. "After Crouch gets here and I start working on the Tracking Charm, I may be pretty busy. If someone could attend our first lesson and then take them over while I'm working, that would be very helpful."

"I vill do this," Viktor Krum volunteered. Harry felt Ron stiffen beside him, and he grinned sympathetically at his friend.

Lively, Krum, and the junior members discussed meeting times for a bit. They decided to meet once a week to start, and they settled on Tuesday nights, when Harry and the Weasleys didn't have Quidditch practise. Then, the adult Order members discussed their tasks. The Ministry workers would continue to play their dangerous game of working around Fudge and his supporters while trying not to bring attention to themselves. The "pubkeepers" would, as before, watch and listen. Watching and listening, in fact, seemed to be the order of the day for most of the Order members.

On the foreign front, Madame Maxime would try to use her contacts with former students who worked with the French _Ministère_, hoping that a bit of pressure from other countries might "light ze fire under your Mr. Fudge. Some of us remember ze Grindelwald years, and we certainly do not wish for another Occupation." It was decided that Viktor Krum, who was as uncomfortable as Harry with the idea of trading on his famous name, would not comment publicly on Voldemort's return yet. Krum was, after all, just a year out of school, and Fudge's supporters would have done all they could to make him look like a boy playing at understanding the grown-up world, a dilettantish athlete dabbling in politics and making a hash of it. For now, they would save Krum's potential influence for a time when it was more likely to be of use.

The official part of the meeting ended with Dumbledore reminding them all to be careful and inviting them all to stay and get to know one another if they wished. A few of the Order members rose immediately, either issuing apologies for having to leave immediately or (in the case of Snape) simply swooping out without a backward glance. Other members switched seats to talk with people who had been seated far away during the meeting. Harry was watching John Kimble make his way around the table toward Sirius when the rhythmic thunk of wood against wood announced the approach of Mad-Eye Moody. "Potter," he said, looming over Harry in his intimidating way, "I found this in the Darks Arts office last year, and I think it might belong to you." He held a bit of parchment out toward Harry. It was the Marauder's Map.

Harry gasped. "How did you know it was mine?" he asked.

"Asked it," Moody replied tersely. When Harry goggled at him, he explained, "Mr. Padfoot and Mr. Prongs made a few less-than-complimentary comments about a certain Hogwarts professor" (here his magical eye fixed itself briefly on the seat formerly occupied by Snape) "who had tried to make the parchment reveal itself. When I told them they were dead right, they became quite talkative. They never mentioned you by name, but they hinted."

Harry was astonished. It had never occurred to him to try to talk to the Map. Filing this new information away for later, he thanked Moody, who nodded gruffly and stumped away. His place near Harry was immediately taken by Sirius and Remus, who needed to get home. Sirius had to add the next ingredients to the Wolfsbane potion, which he had taken to brewing "so Remus won't have to count on that slimy git." The potion was quite sensitive, and this round of ingredients needed to be added exactly seven minutes from now, so the two men took their leave with rather more speed than usual. The rest of the Order members trickled away, and Harry and his friends made their way back to Gryffindor tower to discuss the afternoon's events. This discussion, Harry reflected as they walked, was likely to be a very long one indeed.


	16. Uncommon Bonds

Disclaimer: Nothing is mine. All is Jo's.

_Author's Note: Thanks, as always, to Yolanda, who irons out my rough spots. And thanks to my reviewers, who stick around even when I go way too long between updates. _

_TSS_

**Chapter 16 – Uncommon Bonds**

Harry, Hermione, and the Weasleys somehow managed not spend every free moment between Sunday's meeting and Tuesday's lesson speculating about what Professor Lively would be teaching them. However, in between attending Quidditch practise (Harry and the Weasleys), finishing homework (everyone), getting yet another round of detentions (the twins), reading three books outside those assigned (Hermione), "bickering like an old married couple" (Ron and Hermione, as described by Fred, who received a nasty Jelly-Legs Jinx for his pains), and a few minor activities like eating and sleeping, they did wonder. Lively hadn't given them much to go on, though; she had asked only that they arrive at her classroom promptly at the end of dinner. "No books necessary; just your wands," she had said. So when the six students arrived at the Defense classroom on Tuesday evening, it was with very little idea of what they'd be doing.

They found Krum and Professor Lively examining an oddly-shaped wooden object that, after a moment, Harry recognised as a blank artist's palette. Krum and Lively looked up and greeted the students with, respectively, a nod and a smile.

"Temporary Portkey," Lively explained, gesturing toward the palette. "It's just taking us to the Great Hall; that's the only place in the castle that's large enough for our activities tonight. I'd have had you meet me there, but I didn't want to attract attention. Anyway, everyone gather 'round my desk and get a finger on the palette." The students obeyed, and, about twenty seconds later, they landed in the Great Hall, Professor Lively and Krum on their feet and the students in a heap.

"Portkey work is on the list of things to practise later," the professor teased as she watched her charges attempt to get back on their feet. "For today, though, we'll be working on getting you familiar with the Bond. Now, I should warn you right away that I'm probably not the ideal person to teach this lesson. I'm a new Order member, too, so the Bond is as new for me as it is for you. However, some of the spells that I learned in MG training have similar effects, and I think the techniques that we used to learn to handle those spells should work for the Bond.

"The first step to learning to control the Bond is learning to be aware of your fellow Order members. Eventually, I want you to be aware of all the other members at all times. However, that takes a good deal of practise, and we'll need to work up to it. Today, we'll focus on being aware of a few other members, all of whom are fairly nearby. The first activity for tonight is a bit like hide and seek. You'll all be blindfolded, and I'll cast a Selective Silencing Charm so that you'll be able to hear Mr. Krum and me, and we'll be able to hear you, but you and your fellow students won't be able to hear each other. Then, Mr. Krum and I will place you in different spots around the room. Once we have you positioned the way we want you, I'll ask one of you to find a particular other student and pass my palette off to that person. Since you can't see or hear, you'll have only your Bond with that person to help you. Oh, and we'll Levitate the tables and benches out of the way so you won't run into them. Are there any questions?"

There were none, so Lively set the students to Levitating the furniture out of the way. Once they were finished, Lively cast the Silencing Charm while Krum conjured five blindfolds. After all of the students were blindfolded, Harry felt a hand on his arm guiding him to a particular spot in the Hall. "Here, Professor Lively?" Krum's voice enquired.

"Yes, just there." At Lively's confirmation, Krum moved away, presumably to place another student in the right spot. A few moments later, Lively's voice, right beside Harry, broke the silence again.

"Now, you're all in position. Harry, take this," she said, placing the palette in Harry's hands, "and give it to Hermione."

Harry nodded. He stood for a moment, trying to use the Bond to sense Hermione's presence. There she was; if he was standing at the Ravenclaw table (and he thought he was), then she was down at the far end of the Hufflepuff table. Not far. Harry stepped off in what he thought was Hermione's direction. After he had gone about ten steps, though, he trod on something that felt suspiciously like a shoe. "Sorry," he said with a sympathetic wince.

"Remember, Harry, that your fellow students can't hear you," Professor Lively reminded him. "If you want to tell the person you just tripped over that you're sorry, you'll have to find another way to do it."

_Right, then,_ Harry thought. If they were doing Bond work, he reckoned he'd have to use the Bond. He thought about the strands of light that had connected all of the Order members to one another at the Binding, and he tried to visualise the strands that connected him to Hermione and the Weasley children. As he called the mental image to mind, the threads seemed to change lengths. The one connecting him to Ron seemed very short, as though there wasn't much distance between the two of them. _So that was Ron,_ Harry said to himself. He concentrated on that Bond, and he mentally reached out along it to Ron. Yes, that was Ron; his toe hurt where Harry had stepped on it. Harry pushed a little harder at the Bond, trying to will a message of apology along the Bond to Ron. In a few moments, he sensed a bit of amusement from Ron, a feeling that his apology had been received and accepted. Although no words had passed between them, Harry knew that he and Ron had understood one another perfectly.

Harry also knew that he couldn't just concentrate on finding Hermione; if he wanted to avoid squashing more Weasley toes, he'd have to know where all of his fellow students were. This time, as he slowly made his way toward Hermione, he kept the picture of the connecting strands in his head, and he paid attention to the way they shifted. _George is very close by—just to the left, I think, so better step this way—and Fred is over there where the Slytherin table ought to be, and, really, they aren't hard to tell apart at all when you're using the Bond instead of looking at them._ By keeping careful track of his five friends, Harry finally made it to Hermione's side without bumping into anyone else. As he reached out a hand to pass the palette to Hermione, he felt a triumphant grin raise the corners of his mouth. He'd done it.

"Excellent work, Harry," Professor Lively said. "Now, you stay there in Hermione's spot, and, Hermione, you find George."

Harry felt Hermione's sleeve brush past, marking her departure, and he tried to keep picturing the connecting strands, watching as the strand between himself and Hermione grew longer as she moved across the room. She found George without apparent difficulty, and Professor Lively moved the lesson along, instructing George to find Ginny. After all the junior members had taken a turn at finding one of their fellows, Professor Lively and Viktor repositioned them all at new spots in the room. Then, Lively gave them instructions for the next part of their lesson.

"This is a bit trickier," she said. "Last time, the person doing the searching was the only one moving; everyone else was staying still. This time, you're all going to be moving at the same time, so you'll have to take extra care to keep from running into each other. This time, I'll put you in pairs, and then you will all, at the same time, attempt to find the other half of your pair."

Professor Lively cast a Duplicating Spell on her palette, creating two copies of it. She handed the palettes to Harry, Fred, and Ginny, who were to pass them off to Ron, Hermione, and George.

It occurred to Harry, as he picked his way through the maze of his friends to pass his palette off to Ron, how silly they would all look to an observer. Six blindfolded teenagers, stumbling around a room full of levitating furniture and trying not to trip on one another—they must have looked ridiculous. However, the activity seemed to be doing its job. All of the junior Order members found their partners successfully (and without crashing into one another). When Lively re-paired them with different people, Harry felt the Bond becoming more natural. By the time he was paired with Fred, his fifth and final partner, he hardly had to concentrate at all: Finding Fred by using the Bond was as easy as finding Fred by looking at him or listening to him.

Professor Lively removed the Silencing Charm and the blindfolds. Once Harry's eyes had adjusted to the light, he could see his friends looking as pleased as he felt. The Bond was working for them, too.

"Good work, everyone," Lively said. "Excellent, in fact. You're catching on very quickly. Let's head back to my classroom to wrap up."

A Portkey trip sent them back to the Defense room, where they picked themselves off the floor and then sat down to listen to the professor. "That was a very promising start," she said. "Now you know a bit of what it feels like to use the Bond with a particular purpose in mind.

"Our purpose tonight, though, was a relatively easy one. You were in close proximity to one another, and you were only concerned with a handful of other Order members. Eventually, I want to you to be able to know where all of your fellow Order members are, whether they're in the room with you or a thousand miles away. To be able to do that will take time and practise. To that end, I have some homework for you. Every night this week, before you go to sleep, check in on your fellow Order members. Use the skills that you learned tonight to make contact with each Order member, and get some idea of where they are in relation to you. It shouldn't take long, and it should get to be pretty easy, but it's important. Any questions?"

"I can think of some Order members who won't much like being checked in on," Fred opined.

"It is my hope that everyone in the Order has enough maturity to realise how important it is for all of you to become familiar with the Bond." Fred and George each raised a sceptical eyebrow, and Harry didn't have to use the Bond to know that both were doubting that "maturity" and "Snape" were concepts that belonged in the same sentence. Harry tended to agree with that doubt, but he kept his sceptical expressions to himself.

Lively shot the twins a brief look that instructed them to let the matter drop. She then continued, "Although you should be safe here at Hogwarts, we know that our security has, in the past, been breached. If that were to happen again and one of you were taken, your best chance for survival could hinge on your ability to control the Bond."

The students were quiet for a moment, considering the gravity of Professor Lively's warning. Ron, sounding uncertain, broke the silence to ask, "What about times when we can't control it? Like the time Professor Dumbledore was talking about, when Professor Lupin got Stunned before he had time to use the Bond. That time, it worked anyway."

Lively nodded. "And you're wondering why you need to learn to control it if it works anyway. A good question. Basically, you need to learn because we don't know precisely how the Bond works. It may be that the Bond works automatically, by itself, in which case practise and work are a bit beside the point. However, it may be that the Bond calls on each wizard's store of knowledge and skills, in which case wizards tied together by the Bond would be well served by increasing their store of knowledge and skills. Remus Lupin, for instance, is extremely skilled at Defence. It's quite possible that the Bond was drawing on his abilities in that area even when the conscious part of his mind wasn't functioning. Does that make sense?"

At the students' nods, she continued, "And, of course, there are the times when you will want to use the Bond consciously; for those, some previous practise will prove very helpful." Smiling at them all, she concluded, "So go practise. Every day. And be prepared for Mr. Krum to put your skills to the test next week. Now, you'd better get back to your Common Room; it's getting late."

She opened the door to usher them out; the students each gave a start of surprise when confronted by Mad-Eye Moody, who was standing just outside the door, his magical trunk by his side. "Good timing, Lively," he said in his usual gruff way. "I was just about to knock. Brought you those Dark detectors you wanted to show your sixth-years." Without waiting for an invitation, Moody stumped in, levitating the trunk behind him, and closed the door. He pointed his wand at the door and then waved in a complicated pattern, muttering incantations under his breath. The door glowed blue, then red, then silver. "Nice Anti-Eavesdropping Charms. Glad to see somebody learned something in Auror training. I did bring you some Dark detectors to show your sixth-years, but they're mostly window dressing. The important thing I brought is that Crouch boy."

"Where is he?" Professor Lively asked, looking about as if she expected Moody to whisk away an invisibility cloak. She looked in the direction of Moody's gesture and burst out with, "Godric's paintbrush, Moody! Even if he hasn't got a soul, the CAMMPs would have your eyes if they knew you were hauling the boy around in a trunk!"

Moody defended his method of transportation as "poetic justice, Lively. Little hell-spawn kept me locked in that trunk for nine whole months, and what's sauce for the goose is sauce for the griffin. Besides, it was the best way to get him here without arousing suspicion. Never know who'll be watching when I come calling at Hogwarts, and the CAMMPs are the least of my concerns. CONSTANT VIGILANCE!"

Professor Lively rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Indeed. Well, let's get that trunk to my private quarters. Goodnight, all." She sketched an abstracted wave at Harry, Hermione, and the Weasleys and motioned for Moody to follow her.

Viktor Krum, at Lively's elbow, said something to her too low for Harry to hear. When she nodded, he joined the students. "It is getting late," he said. "I vill valk vith you back to your Common Room." He fell into step behind the group. As they made their way back toward Gryffindor Tower, Harry asked Ron what "camps" were.

"It's C-A-M-M-P. Stands for Committee Against the Mistreatment of Magical Prisoners," Ron replied. "Bleeding-heart fringe group that feels sorry for all the poor, mistreated Death Eaters rotting in Azkaban where they belong."

"That's completely unfair, Ron," Hermione interrupted. "They just think that everyone who's accused of a crime is entitled to basic civil rights. If people had actually _listened_ to the CAMMPs last time instead of slinging mud at them, innocent people like Sirius wouldn't have gotten locked up without a trial, and…."

Hermione appeared to be building up to a SPEW-worthy rant, but Krum interrupted quietly. "There vos a branch of their group in Russia in the last vor, and the government ordered that they be executed as traitors. Some of the vons who got avay settled in Bulgaria. Von of them lives in my village. He is a good man."

"Why Bulgaria?" Hermione asked, successfully distracted. "They don't share a border."

Krum smiled ruefully. "Because it vos as far avay as they could go vith home-made emergency Portkeys. Also, they knew that the Bulgarian government vos in too much disorder to care about them. After the last vor, it vos … very bad. I cannot remember much of it, but I know that many people vere hungry, and many people had no homes and no jobs. The political beliefs of a few Russian refugees did not matter so much to people who vere trying to rebuild their villages and their lives. So long as they vere villing to help vith the rebuilding efforts and they did not eat more than their share of food, they vere velcome." He shrugged. Then, with a gesture toward the portrait of the Fat Lady, he said, "And on that cheerful note, I must bid you a good evening. I vill see you in class on Thursday." He nodded politely and then strode away in the direction of the dungeons.

Harry, Hermione, and the Weasleys gave the password and climbed through the portrait hole. Fred and George immediately made a beeline for Lee Jordan, while Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny headed for an empty table a little removed from the others. When they sat, Ginny, apparently still thinking about Krum's words, said, "It was bad everywhere in the last war, wasn't it? Not just here in Britain, but…." She trailed off.

"…Everywhere," Harry finished. In his head, he added, _And now it's starting again,_ but the thought was too gloomy to say aloud. But, as he worked on his deadly dull History of Magic essay, his mind continued to wander back to Krum's description of hungry people and broken villages. _Not again,_ he thought. _Not this time._ This time, the Order had formed early. They were ready to fight, and they had plans and strategies. Since they knew what it had been like before, it wouldn't be unexpected this time. So maybe, just maybe, they could keep it from being that way again.


	17. Cartography and Cartoromancy

Disclaimer: Not mine. JKR's.

_Author's Note: Let's just stop counting the months in between my updates, shall we? Thanks. Seriously, thanks to those of you who are still reading, and thanks to Yo for the beta-reading._

TSS

**Cartography and Cartoromancy**

"Time speeds up in the fifth year," Seamus Finnigan said, apropos of nothing. At Harry's quizzical look, he elaborated, "It's the only reasonable explanation. When you're a fourth year, your days still have the right number of hours, and your weeks still have the right number of days, but once you hit the OWL year, time speeds up, and your world goes mad."

Seamus was advancing this theory as he, Harry, and their other teammates hauled themselves toward Gryffindor tower after a grueling Quidditch practise. Harry found himself inclined to agree; October was already half gone, and November was hurtling toward them at twice the usual speed. Homework levels ran high, tempers ran short, and the teachers all made ominous noises about practise OWLs. It was, as Justin Finch-Fletchley might say, "really all a bit much, old chap."

On the bright side, Hermione's OWL review sessions were going well (though Harry and Ron didn't say so too often, fearing that praise might encourage her to increase the sessions' frequency), the junior members of the Order of the Phoenix had all basically mastered the surveillance portion of the Bond, and the Quidditch team was really coming together. Harry and his friends were managing, even if their days seemed a few hours short.

The team arrived at the tower and went their separate ways, with Harry, Ron, and Ginny falling into chairs at their usual table, where Hermione sat rifling through books and taking notes at her customary frantic pace. Instead of glancing up, she held up a finger to indicate that the others should wait and muttered, "Two paragraphs." A few moments later, she jotted down one last note and closed the book with a sigh. "That finishes the outline for the Charms essay," she said. "How was practise?"

While Ron sputtered that the Charms essay had only been assigned _today_, for Merlin's sake, Harry and Ginny acknowledged that practise had been exhausting, but successful.

"The Chasers are doing great with Oliver's old plays. The Reserves have come together better than we really could have hoped," Harry said. "We may try to learn one or two new plays to run against Ravenclaw, if—." He broke off abruptly, startled by a surge of emotion along the Bond. "What was that?" he asked.

"First time I've ever felt anything when I wasn't, you know, trying," Ron said. Harry nodded; aside from the first few moments after the Bond was formed, he'd never felt such an intense feeling from it. He noticed that Fred and George had sat up abruptly and were now heading toward his table; they had felt it, too. He concentrated, trying to determine where the feeling had come from. It wasn't danger, he knew; Professor Dumbledore had said that danger warnings came with a bit more information. Skipping the junior Members, since they were all there in the room, he felt along his Bond with each Order member. Dumbledore, McGonagall, Sirius, Lupin….

"Lively," he and Ginny said in unison.

"She's really happy about something," Ron added. "Happy, and…."

"Relieved and satisfied, like she's just done something she wasn't sure she could do." That was from Hermione, in exaggeratedly low tones meant to remind the others to keep their voices down.

"Snape's with her…"

"…the greasy git," Fred finished his brother's thought and added, "and so is Krum. And Snape's either distracted or losing his touch if he's letting us know where he is."

Fred had a point, Harry thought; most days, Snape consciously blocked off the surveillance portion of the Bond.

"Well, that's it, then," Hermione said. "She's obviously figured it out."

Before the Bond, Hermione's statements like that had usually been met with confused stares from Harry and Ron (and, for that matter, anyone else who happened by). But, as Dumbledore had said it would, the Bond helped the Order members pick up one another's trains of thought, and everyone at the table cottoned on right away. Professor Lively's experiments with Barty Crouch's Dark Mark had finally worked out, and she had discovered a way to track the Death Eaters.

Harry and the Weasleys were all for rushing off to Lively's office right then to discuss the new development, but Hermione convinced them to wait. "We'll see her tomorrow for our Defence tutorial, and if they need us, they'll let us know. Besides," she added, with typical practicality, "there's not much we can do to help, and if we go barging in now, we'll probably just be in the way." So the Order's junior members waited until the next evening to have their curiosity satisfied.

When they arrived at Professor Lively's classroom, they found it full of people. Most were adult Order members, but a few were strangers. (Hermione, who had obviously been exploring the communication features of the Bond, sent the others a message not to ask questions until the strangers' presence was explained.) The walls had been covered with maps, and most of the desks had been replaced with—or more likely Transfigured into—long tables, which were also covered with maps. On one of the remaining desk, positioned in a corner a bit away from the action, a potion bubbled, and Snape loomed over it, adjusting the flame and muttering to himself. Around the tables, about ten people paced, checking maps, casting spells, and talking over one another. Professor Lively was one of them, of course, and Viktor Krum, and also Professors Flitwick and Vector. John Kimble was there, along with Rhun Croaker, Bill Weasley, Remus Lupin, and ….

"Sirius!" Harry said happily, causing everyone to look up.

Sirius grinned at his godson and made as if to speak, but Professor Lively spoke first. "Is it time already?" she asked, walking over to greet her young charges. "Merlin, how did it get so late? Come in. Never mind, you're already in. Sit down. I have no lesson planned for tonight, but stay around to watch. You might be useful. Black—no, not Black, I need Black—Krum, you explain to them what's happening." After delivering those observations without seeming to pause for breath, Lively turned on her heel and went back to the table where she and Sirius had been working. Sirius shrugged, amused and apologetic, and returned his attention to his work. The students goggled after Lively.

"She is a bit … highly stringed at the moment," Krum said. "I am thinking it makes her revert to her Auror days."

"Strung," Hermione said. "Highly _strung_."

Krum accepted this correction with good grace and went on to carry out Lively's instruction to explain what was going on. Professor Lively's Tracking Charm was working, but so far it was only in her head. "If she visualises a map of Britain, she can see in her mind vere the Death Eaters are. But it is only in her mind, and she can only see it ven she concentrates on it. Ven she needs to turn her attention to something else, the connection is lost. The people vith the maps are trying to find a vay to transfer the Charm from Arte- from Professor Lively's head to a map. If they can make the Charm show up on a map, anyvon can votch it, and it vill not all be up to Professor Lively.

"The people that you do not know," he continued, "are Atlas Netherfield, Iris Grizzle, and Guthrie Chesterfield. Netherfield is from your Ministry's Department of Cartography and Cartoromancy, and Grizzle and Chesterfield are Spellcrafters. Ve may speak freely in front of them; Legatus Kimble has assured us that they are trust-vorthy."

"Legatus?" Harry asked, unfamiliar with the word.

"That's the title given to the leader of the Aurors," Hermione answered. "It's the highest Auror rank, like "general" in Muggle armies."

Viktor nodded. "Anyvay, everyvon here is an expert at either maps, Charms, security, or Spell-crafting. Except for me, of course."

"And Sna- Professor Snape," Harry pointed out. Hermione gave him a reproving glance, to which Harry responded with a well-it's-_true_ look.

"Indeed," Krum acknowledged. "I haff the impression that he has done a bit of spell-crafting, but he is not an expert in the field. He is here in his capacity as a Potions expert. The spells to make the information manifest itself on the map may reqvire potions to bind and stabalise them. I believe it is a Universal Binding Potion that he is vorking on at the moment."

"What are Sirius and Professor Lupin doing here?" Ginny asked. "Professor Lupin's specialty is Defence, and Sirius … well, I don't know him well enough to know for sure, but I'd have reckoned his area was Transfiguration, since he's an Animagus." Seeing knowing grins on the faces of Harry, Ron, and Hermione, she asked, "What?"

"You know that map that Fred and George gave me?" Harry said. Ginny nodded.

"How do you know about the Map?" Fred asked.

"_I_ pay attention," Ginny said loftily. The twins muttered something under their breaths, and Ginny and Hermione shot them dirty looks.

"_Anyway_," Harry said, drawing the word out to get their attention back to the matter at hand, "Sirius and Remus are two of the makers of that map."

"Padfoot!" Fred exclaimed, just as George cried out, "Moony!" The twins' shouts were loud enough to make Sirius and Remus whip around, startled at hearing their Marauder nicknames. Harry waved them back to work.

"So who were Wormtail and Prongs?" George asked.

"Wormtail," Harry said, spitting the name out as if it were poison, "was Peter Pettigrew, filthy little rat, and Prongs was my dad."

"Your dad was a Marauder?" George's voice was full of awe. "Wow."

"Reckon they have got some experience with maps and Tracking Charms, then," Fred said, sounding equally impressed. "Never would've thought Lupin had it in him."

"Explains why we could never get away with anything in his class," George mused. "He'd seen it all before – and probably done half of it himself."

"Professor Lively said we might be useful," Hermione said, wrenching the conversation away from Remus Lupin's checkered past and back to the present. "What can we do?"

"Haff you learned Magnification Charms yet?" Viktor asked.

Fred and George nodded, and the others shook their heads. "They don't teach those at Hogwarts," Hermione said. "You only learn them in Apparation Workshops. I've read about them" (Here she glared at Ron and Harry for muttering "of course" in unison), "but I've never tried them."

"Then I vill teach some to you now," Viktor said. "They are not difficult, but I suppose they are a bit specialised to be included in the regular curriculum." Turning to Professor Lively, he called, "Artemis, do you haff a spare map?"

Without looking up, Lively Banished a piece of paper toward Krum, who caught it and spread it out on a nearby table for the students to see. Harry recognised it as an Ordnance Survey map. When Ron asked why nothing moved on it, Krum explained that they had to use Muggle maps for this project because the spells on magical maps might interfere with what they were trying to do. "Magical maps come vith so many charms already on them that they tend to be a bit temperamental if von tries to tamper vith them. Vith Muggle maps, ve can use only the Charms that ve need, and there is less risk of bad interactions betveen them."

With the slight switch in intonation that Harry recognised has his teaching persona, Krum continued, "There are three types of Magnification Charms. Von is an Unbounded Magnification Charm, and it produces an enlarged projection of the entire page. It is the least specific, and, for our purposes, the least useful. Next is the Static Bounded Magnification Charm. This enlarges only a particular part of the page, and the resulting projection is like an inset. There is a major disadvantage to the Static Charm if you are using the projection to track something – namely, that the thing you are tracking can move outside the boundaries of the charm. Thus, the third and most difficult charm, the Moving Bounded Magnification Charm. Vith this charm, the boundaries of the projected inset move along vith votever you are tracking. So it is this last charm that ve vill be using, but I vill need to teach you the others first in order to vork up to it. So let us begin."

Krum cast a Duplicating Spell on the map, producing six copies of it. He handed one to each of the junior Order members and kept the original for himself. "Ve vill start vith the Unbounded Charm. The incantation is '_Amplifico_,' and the vand movement is a clockvise circle and then a sharp tap." He demonstrated the movement and motioned for the students to do the same. "Sharper on the tap, Ginny," he said. "Ron, try making your circle a bit smaller, and, Harry, make yours a bit larger." They tried the wand movement again, and Viktor was satisfied this time. "All right, try it vith the incantation this time. _Amplifico_!" A projection of Krum's map hovered above the table; the image was about five times the size of the original. The students followed suit, and six more projections appeared, overlapping one another.

"You see vy this spell is not so useful by itself," Krum said. "The resulting image is qvite large and unvieldy. _Finite Incantatem_!" Krum's projection disappeared; the students followed his example, cancelling their charms. "Excellent. Now, let us try the Static Bounded Charm. For this, ve use our vands to draw a boundary around the area that ve vish to enlarge. A round or oval boundary vorks best – something vithout corners. The incantation is '_Circumscriptonis_.' Ve say the incantation and then draw the boundary." He demonstrated, and a silvery circle, with the slightly lopsided look of figures drawn free-hand, appeared on the map. "Make Marlboro the centre of your circle," Krum instructed. The students did, and soon they all had silvery circles on their maps. "Very good. Now, ve use the incantation and the vand movement from the Unbounded Charm, and ve tap in the middle of our circle. _Amplifico_!" When Krum brought his wand down onto the centre of his circle, a projection of the area appeared above the map, just as it was meant to do. The students tried their hands. Fred, George, and Hermione produced projections on their first try, and Harry, Ron, and Ginny got it on the second attempt.

"Excellent!" Krum said. "Now, ve need to do a few things before ve move on to the Moving Bounded charm. Can you see vot else ve need?"

"Something to track, obviously," Hermione offered. "But there's more, isn't there?" Krum nodded, indicating that there was more.

Harry looked at the projection hovering in the air. It ought, he reckoned, to look like the insets on road maps, but it didn't. Something was off. "It's only bigger," he said. "It doesn't show more roads or anything; it just shows us a bigger picture of what we already had."

Krum smiled at him. "Precisely, Harry. The projections do not yet show more detail. And getting the detail is the difficult part. It reqvires using an Embellishment Charm, and those are very temperamental. This von is said to vork best if you haff been to the place before, or at least seen a detailed map or a picture, but, vith proper preparation and concentration, you can make it vork even for places you do not know well. The key is … it is difficult to explain…." He trailed off, searching for the right words.

Hermione broke in almost immediately, "I've read about Embellishment Charms, and the book said that the key is to have all of the formal features that you want in your head without mentally filling in too many of the specifics."

Harry and the Weasleys looked confused, and Krum smiled. "That is an excellent summary … for somevon who already understands the spell. But I see that it is not much help as an introduction. Let me see if an example vill help. Imagine that you vant the map to tell you the geographical features of a place. You need to haff in your mind a general idea of geographical features, but you cannot be thinking only of specific features. If you are thinking too much about one specific feature—mountains, for instance, or trees—then your map may show you only that feature and leave out the rest. So you might get a map that shows you all of the mountains and trees but that leaves out the rivers. Or if you vant to see transportation routes and you think too hard about roads, you might get a map that shows you all of the roads but that leaves out railvays. To get an accurate representation, you must haff in your mind the general outlines for everything that you vant, but you cannot make assumptions about how those outlines vill be filled in. The spell gives us vot ve expect, and, if our expectations are too fixed, it vill give us vot ve think ve vant instead of vot ve really vant. Do you see?"

Harry wasn't sure whether it was Krum's example or the Bond causing him to catch on, but he did see. The Weasleys were nodding as well, so Krum moved on to a demonstration. He closed his eyes for a moment and took a few deep breaths. Harry tuned in to his Bond with Krum and picked up feelings of deep concentration. Then, he brought his wand down in a left-to-right diagonal, jabbed it sharply forward to aim at the centre of his projection, and said, "_Elaboro_!"

Slowly at first, then with increasing rapidity, the circle filled with detail. Roads, houses, topographical features—all appeared in the circle. Harry, Hermione, and the Weasleys made impressed noises, and Krum smiled one of his brief, rare smiles.

"Why doesn't it show people?" Ginny asked.

"Two reasons," Krum replied. "Can any of you guess them?"

"Because there aren't any people there to show?" Ron suggested.

"Not a bad guess, but not the right one … at least, I would be surprised if it were the right one," Krum said.

Suddenly, and idea struck Harry, and he said, "Because you weren't thinking of people."

"Correct. Now, why was I not thinking of people?"

"The Apparation License bloke didn't come right out and say it, but he let on like the charm to make people appear on maps is dead difficult," Fred said.

"It is," Krum said. "And, in part, for a first demonstration, I vanted to avoid the difficulties. But there is another reason that has to do with what ve vant from these maps."

"We don't want to track everyone, do we?" Ginny said. "We only want to track Death Eaters. And you couldn't make just them show up on the map, could you, because we don't know who all of them are."

"Exactly, Ginny. The charm to show people at all is very difficult; a charm to show only a certain group of people, especially ven ve do not know all of the members of that group, is nearly impossible. I am not even certain that it has been done before. That is vy ve haff so many people here to help us try to get Professor Lively's tracking spell onto paper."

"But we'll want to know who they're meeting with and talking to … besides one another, I mean," Hermione said. "If we end up with a map that shows us only Death Eaters and not the people around them, won't there be big gaps in our knowledge of what they're doing?"

Krum nodded. "There vood be, if ve left it at that. Once we get Professor Lively's spell onto paper, ve can cast vot is called a Proximity Charm that vill show us people vithin a certain distance of the vons that ve are tracking. But that is for much later. For now, all of you should try the Embellishment Charm." He reminded them of the wand motion and the incantation, and they all closed their eyes to concentrate.

Harry tried to imagine just the right amount of detail. Krum had said that it was easier to perform the Embellishment Charm if you already knew the place, but Harry found himself doubting that; if you knew the place, the problem of getting what you expected instead of what was really there seemed more likely. Forcing other thoughts from his head, Harry concentrated on mentally picturing the general concepts of what he wanted to see on the map. When he thought he had them all, he opened his eyes, performed the wand motion, and said, "_Elaboro_!" He was gratified to see his projection start to add details, just as Krum's had done. He looked around to see that all of his friends' maps were adding details, too.

"Excellent! Very vell done," Krum said. "Now, ve should test our charms against von another. Compare your maps; do the details look the same?"

"Oi, mine doesn't have those little squiggly bits there," Ron said, examining Harry's projection. "Yours doesn't either, Vi- Viktor," he observed, managing to call Krum by name.

"No, mine does not have it, and neither do yours, Fred and George. But Harry, Hermione, and Ginny all have it, and it is unlikely that three maps vood show the same thing if it vere not there. I think the four of us must have made a mistake." He moved closer, peering at Harry's map. "Vot _is_ that?" he muttered. He prodded the area lightly with his wand and said, "_Titulo_!" A marker with the words "Play Lot" appeared over the spot. "Vot is a play lot?" Hermione explained about things like swings and slides and roundabouts, and Krum nodded. "I haff seen those. They are mostly built by Muggles, yes?"

"Harry and Hermione grew up with Muggles, but not Ginny," Ron said, "so I don't see how that could explain it."

Krum thought for a moment and then answered, "I am thinking that perhaps the four of us vere concentrating too much on vizard landmarks and not enough on Muggle vons. Let us try again and haff the idea of Muggle markers in mind as vell this time."

"Told you lot you should have taken Muggle Studies," Ginny remarked. Her brothers glared at her, and then they and Krum tried the spell again. This time, the play lot appeared on their maps.

"Very vell," Krum said, "I think you haff mastered the Static Bounded Charm. Ve cannot move on yet to the Moving Bounded Charm because it reqvires haffing something to track. That vill haff to vait until…."

He was interrupted by a loud, incoherent sound of frustration from Professor Lively. "Why is nothing working?" she demanded.

"Because we can't get what's on your head onto the page, Artie," Sirius answered.

"Thank you for that extremely insightful observation, Black. I never would have figured that out. Call me 'Artie' again, and I'll turn your hair into Flobberworms." Turning away from Sirius, she said to the room at large, "Does anyone have anything _useful_ to offer?"

Krum braved Lively's irritation to ask, "Haff you tried a variation on the Perspective-Sharing Spell?"

Professor Lively's aspect immediately shifted from frustrated to thoughtful. "I've only heard of using it to project what you see, not what you think. Do you know of a variation?"

"Only by reputation," Krum replied. "A friend of my father's, a Spellcrafter, vos vorking on a variation to show thoughts. The Bulgarian Ministry cut off funds for the project vonce they determined that it vos not useful for surveillance vork, but I heard my father and his friend discuss it a good bit. It sounds … very complicated." Turning to the Ministry employees, he asked, "Haff any of you heard of this spell?"

"I've heard of it, or something a lot like it," Rhun Croaker said. The Ministry employees looked surprised. "Chum of mine at Oxford works on Binding Spells between humans and inanimate objects. I don't know much about the practise, but he's explained the theory to me. Perhaps if we all put our heads together…."

The hour or so that followed was, Harry reckoned, like something out of Hermione's dreams. All of the wizards with any experience in Spellcrafting brainstormed, argued, experimented, and generally put on a formidable show of intellectual acrobatics. Harry and the Weasleys mostly alternated between fetching library books and trying to stay out of the way, but Hermione was right in the thick of it, arguing with Rhun and Bill about Image-Producing Charms.

Finally, Bill announced, "All right, let's do it."

"Lively, what person in this room knows you best?" John Kimble asked. At the startled expressions of his colleagues, he elaborated, "Spells like this usually work best when there's an established relationship and a high level of trust between the participants."

"Well, then … Viktor, I supposed," Lively answered. That response surprised Harry a bit, but he didn't really have time to think about it, for Krum was taking a seat across from Lively and looking into her eyes, preparing to cast the spell. The plan, as Harry understood it, was to try the spell first between Lively and Krum and then, if it worked, between Lively and a sheet of parchment.

Krum took a deep breath and then pronounced the incantation. Harry didn't recognise the words, but he knew from the discussion that they were Greek instead of the usual Latin and that they translated loosely to "show me what she sees in her mind's eye." A jet of white light shot from Krum's wand toward Lively, and the air between the two of them seemed to crackle as they held eye contact. Krum's eyes widened, and he drew in a sharp breath and tore his eyes away from Lively's. "_Finite Incantatem_," he said firmly. "It does not vork."

The room exploded with questions and protests. "Not at all?" "Did you see anything?" "The incantation did _something_ or you wouldn't have had the light."

Krum glowered at the room. "It does not show vat it is meant to show. It does not vork, and ve vill not invade Professor Lively's mind vith it again." He spoke in a tone of such finality that no one seemed inclined to argue. "My apologies, Artemis," he said, so softly that Harry barely heard him.

"Back to the drawing board, then," Rhun said, apparently unfazed by the setback. "Any other suggestions for getting thoughts out of someone's head and onto paper?"

They argued and deliberated for another half an hour or so. Suddenly, Harry had an idea. "Could we use a Pensieve?"

Snape, who had been silent all evening, made a sound of derision. "And where would we get a Pensieve, Potter? Do you have any idea how rare they are?"

Willing himself not to sound triumphant, Harry said, "I think Professor Dumbledore has one, sir. He had one last year, anyway."

Harry had barely finished his reply before Lively was heading for her office. Through the open door, they heard her use the Floo to call the Headmaster's office. She returned a few minutes later, now with Dumbledore and his Pensieve in tow.

The headmaster greeted everyone with his usual twinkle and then set to work. Within five minutes, a revolving image of a map of Britain hovered over the basin. The room cheered.

"Now, how do we get it on paper?" Iris Grizzle asked.

"Do Pensieve images show up on photographs, Albus?" Professor Flitwick asked. When the Headmaster replied that he thought they did, Flitwick hurried off to borrow a camera from Professor Smith. He returned, took the picture, and started to leave again, but Lively stopped him. "We need a picture of another thought. Headmaster, can you take out another?" Dumbledore nodded, and Lively said, "Wait, I need to look at that atlas first—the book, not you, Netherfield." She studied the book for a moment, and then Dumbledore removed another memory. Lively called its image up from the Pensieve. This one showed a map of the world instead of a map of Britain. "Just in case any of them leave the country," Lively explained.

Flitwick left to return Smith's camera and to develop the pictures. A few minutes later, he was back with two wonderfully sharp, clear photographs of the Pensieve maps.

Lively muttered a few spells over the photographs, frowned thoughtfully, and took them over to the corner to consult with Professor Snape, who scowled and looked even more sour than usual as he pushed up the sleeve of his robe. Harry looked away, not wanting to give Snape a chance to catch him looking at Snape's Dark Mark. A few minutes later, a smiling Lively returned with the pictures. "It works," she said. "I'm just hoping the Engorgement Charm doesn't throw things off." She cast the Engorgement Charm, holding it until the photographs had become wall-sized maps. Now Harry could see little black dots representing the Death Eaters. _No, not dots_, he realised, looking closer. They were little…

"Oh, creepy!" Fred Weasley was saying enthusiastically. "They're little skulls!"

"Little Dark Marks," Lively affirmed, not sounding particularly pleased. "I didn't plan it that way; it's just how they showed up." Shifting back into her super-efficient mode, she said, indicating the map of Britain, "Now, here's what we need to do. I'm dividing this map into sections. Every section will have Dark Marks on it, and each Dark Mark, as you know, represents a known Death Eater. Around each Dark Mark, you need to cast a Moving Bounded Magnification Charm and a Proximity Charm. Oh, and a Labelling Charm to let us know who each mark is tracking. Once all the sections are charmed, I'll put the map together again, and we can all go to bed. Krum, how far did you get with the students?"

"Ve had gotten through the Static Bounded Charm and the Embellishment Charm," he said. "I did not teach them the Labelling Charm, but they saw me use it. And of course ve had not done the Moving Bounded von yet because ve had nothing to track."

"You made good progress, then—enough for them to help with the final touches. Show them the rest of the charms once I pass out the map sections." A few Severing Charms later, everyone except Lively had a section of the map. She set them all to work and then went away to do the world map on her own.

Harry, Hermione, and the Weasleys worked side by side, learning the rest of the necessary charms from Krum. When they were finished, they turned in their sections to Professor Lively. Sirius, who, along with Remus, had finished his sections, was waiting nearby to talk to Harry.

"How's my godson?" he asked, pulling Harry into a brief hug. "Couldn't talk to you before we were finished; I was afraid Artie—I mean Artemis—would take my head off."

Lowering his voice so that the Defence professor wouldn't hear, Harry reported Krum's observation that all the activity made Lively revert to her Auror days. Sirius laughed his bark-like laugh and agreed that she had been rather "highly stringed."

"She's really great, though, Lively," George interjected. "Even when she bosses us around a bit."

"Where's she going to put those maps, anyway?" Ginny asked. "It'll have to be somewhere that not just anyone can see them, and they're huge."

"Professor Dumbledore has found a space," Remus said. "It's a very odd room—no doors, so you can only get in by Floo. We'll all probably take shifts there, keeping an eye on the map."

"And quite a map it is," Sirius said. "Lively's amazing. Any of you going in for Spellcrafting after tonight's demonstration?"

Ron shook his head vehemently. "They're mental. Nearly two hours on the wrong spell, and it barely even bothers them. All that work for nothing, and they just dive right on to the next thing. Mental."

"That work wasn't for nothing!" Hermione protested. "Now they know what doesn't work. And sometimes you can't know what _does_ work until you find out what _doesn't_."

Ron's expression said clearly that the Spellcrafters weren't the only ones he considered "mental," but, before he could answer, George noted, "But it did work. Not the way they meant it to, of course, but Krum saw _something_ from Lively's head when he cast that spell."

"Yeah, something that creeped him out right proper, too," Fred said. "Wonder what it was?" After a moment, he added, "Bet he'd tell _you_, Hermione, if you asked him."

This observation earned a death-glare from Ron and a rant from Hermione about how she _certainly_ wouldn't ask him, since it was _obviously_ private—precisely the reactions, Harry reckoned, that Fred had been aiming for. Sirius evidently thought so as well, for he changed the subject by remarking, "Speaking of stirring up trouble, did Remus and I hear our schoolboy nicknames being taken in vain?"

The twins suddenly threw themselves to the ground in front of Sirius and Remus. "We're not worthy!" Fred exclaimed.

"We abase ourselves at your Marauding feet!" George added.

"We kiss your Marauding shoes!" Fred continued.

"You do nothing of the sort, you young idiots," Sirius said, taking a step backward. "I just polished those Marauding shoes, and I'm not having lip prints on them. Now get up before you make a spectacle of yourselves."

"Bit late for not making a spectacle," Remus said, jutting his head in the direction of the Ministry workers, who were staring at Fred and George.

"You'll note that the professors don't even take notice any more," George said, hopping up from the floor.

"Built up a resistance, they have," Fred agreed, standing up as well. "Takes a pretty big spectacle to get a reaction." He grinned cheekily at the Ministry types, who shook their heads and went back to work.

Harry and his friends chatted with Remus and Sirius for a few more minutes. Remus, they discovered, had been attempting to make contact with a few werewolf communities, and Sirius had been lying low and doing research. "Mostly dead boring, but it keeps me out of trouble," he said.

"Don't believe him for a second," Remus said with a smile. "He's actually fascinated by the research, and nothing keeps him out of trouble. And, talking of trouble, you lot will probably be in it if you don't get back to Gryffindor Tower soon. I know you have permission to be here, but that probably won't matter much to Mr. Filch, should you run into him."

Reluctantly, Harry, Hermione, and the Weasleys agreed that they should be getting back. Viktor Krum appeared to have had the same idea, for he appeared with an offer to escort them to their dormitory. They said goodnight to Remus and Sirius, waved to Lively (who was too deeply immersed in working on the maps to notice), and headed off to bed.


End file.
